


Resolution

by sweetrupturedlight



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lola visits Narcisse in the dungeon after he has been incarcerated by Francis. Her actions spark consequences neither could have foreseen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Have you heard that Lord Narcisse is Francis’s prisoner? The head of one of the most powerful noble houses in France! Bash does not speak of it, but he did say that Narcisse presented a pitiful sight in the dungeons.”_

Kenna had been the one to deliver the news. In truth, it had not been surprising. Francis had left to capture Narcisse based on confidences she’d betrayed. She knew she’d done the right thing. But why then did she continue to feel so wretched?

Lola punched her pillow for the third time in an effort to try and wrest a measure of comfort. It proved pointless. She sighed in frustration and curled onto her side, staring off into the darkness. The drapes around her bed were drawn, leaving her to the cocooned privacy of her conflicted feelings.

Lord Stéphane Narcisse had blown into her life as suddenly as the thick grey Scottish mists did, clouding matters that had previously been clear. Initially repulsed, then intrigued, she was aware enough of her own feelings to know that along with loathing, attraction had sparked to life between them. He was a cunning man and there were rumours that he could also be cruel. Of his cunning she had firsthand experience. Of his cruelty she was not as sure, yet was not naive enough to place it outside of the realm of possibility. He scared her. Or, she revised, the feelings he encouraged – despite knowing everything he was capable of, everything he had done – _that_ scared her.

But it had been so long since a man had made her feel desirable, did not fear her connection to the King, a man who challenged her thinking, appreciated her opinions – welcomed them – a man who, despite her better judgement – made her feel just a little bit reckless. He was dangerous, but she couldn’t deny that she was drawn to his burgeoning flame like a moth. He radiated charm, confidence, a blazing sexuality and the promise of untold delights between his sheets. Danger and raw sexuality was a heady combination that she wasn’t immune to. Lola shook her head to clear it. This was not the time. She’d entertained more than enough fantasies on _that_ particular subject.

She had not gone to see him despite knowing about his incarceration for more than a week. Kenna had asked but Lola had briskly shaken her head in a negative before changing the subject, not wanting to discuss the matter. In an unusual turn for Kenna, she hadn’t pressed Lola and had easily segued into an amusing treatise about the latest French fashion.

But each day that passed brought the onslaught of guilt she couldn’t bear any longer. _He had secured his own fate with his actions_ , she reminded herself. His determined blackmail of the King had lead to his inevitable and deserved demise. And yet, in a strange turn, Mary had defended him.

“Lord Narcisse is a scoundrel, I cannot deny that. He’s a shrewd and opportunistic foe. Yet Francis abdicates any blame for what has transpired. We might have started this when we killed his son.”

“Mary,” Lola had begun gently, “Francis tried to protect you. What happened to Éduard, to you... He-”

“Francis made a _choice_ to exclude me - his partner, his co-regent, his _wife_ ,” she said bitterly. “He made a decision to bend to Narcisse’s will and edict. As such, he placed the crown in jeopardy and has ensured that half of France sees our rule as feeble and therefore intermediate. He has undermined every principle we vowed to alter from the undesirable legacy left behind after Henry’s rule. Even now there are ramblings of revolt. These consequences are not because Narcisse dared to blackmail the King.” Mary turned, the force of her gaze meeting Lola’s. “These consequences exist because the King allowed it.”

Lola came back to the present and shifted onto her back. Between a fracture in the drapes she saw light filter through. Dawn was approaching. Perhaps it was time because her mind, it seemed, wouldn’t rest until she had laid eyes upon him. Lola had no idea what she would say – but she was a lady and good breeding ensured that there was always _something_ to say. She relied now on that cultivated talent not failing her.

She attended to her own toilette, donning a simple gown and leaving her hair loose. She fussed about a little, somewhat embarrassed to acknowledge that she took some time on her appearance. Disgusted, she abandoned her cause and checked on Jean-Philippe. The baby still slept soundly. When his nursemaid rose, Lola waived to her to remain seated, slipping from the room before her courage failed her.

It seemed as though the temperature dropped with every step that took her in the direction of the dungeons. She drew her cloak close, hurrying along the old stone passageways. The guard was reluctant to allow her access, but a threat of the King’s displeasure should the mother of his child be denied put paid to it.

The groan of the iron gate caused a shiver to ripple along her spine as it swung open, creaking again as it shut behind her. For a moment, her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, trying to gain her bearings. The cell was small, the walls rough, jagged in places and damp - if the incessant _plop plop plop_ was any indication. There were two barred windows which allowed for some, but not much, light to enter the depressing space.

In the corner, something stirred in the shadows. Her eyes widened as she saw Narcisse shift into the dim, pre-dawn light. Her initial reaction she couldn’t hide. Goosebumps exploded along the surface of her skin and in shock, she took a step back, her hand gripping the clasp of her velvet cloak to anchor her.

“Lady Lola,” he drawled, his voice low. “What an unpleasant surprise. I had often wondered when you might arrive to celebrate your glorious coup d'état.”

“I would never-”

“-betray me and come to see me brought so low? Yet here you are, having effortlessly accomplished both those ambitions.”

She was recovering her composure, troubled at seeing him thus. He was filthy; evident by the stale smell and the smears of dirt on his hands and bare feet. His clothes, nothing more than a peasant’s threadbare breeches and a worn shirt carried evidence of mud and what she was sure was his own blood. His face was covered in a thick beard.

Despite his measured words, she was not immune to the reality that this would be an indignity to a man such as he. _Was it necessary to keep him chained?_

“You cannot blame me for your own actions,” she said, poised, determined to hide just how unpredictably affected she was by his dishevelled state.

“No, I cannot. I blame myself for placing faith where I should have been wiser. Lesson learned.”

The shackles around his hands and feet scraped across the stone floor as he struggled into a sitting position. Lola was appalled. Nothing about this felt right, _just_ even, despite what he’d done. The aim was clearly Narcisse’s humiliation and Francis had achieved it.

“Why have you come then, if not to gloat at my misfortune?” His head rested against the stone wall at his back, his legs stretched out before him. Lola felt pity stir within her and immediately rejected it. Narcisse would not want her pity, despite the fact that she felt sure he deserved it _. Not even an animal deserved this._

Lola wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Beside him a small, low, crude wooden table stood, a lone battered candle resting atop it. Carefully, she moved forward, reached beside him and placed the candle on the floor. Before she could move the table, he caught her hair in his hands and brought the shackled palms to his nose. Her heart squeezed when his eyes closed, breathing in the floral scent of her curls. He’d been beaten, the bruises on his face testament to it. His wrists were raw, caked blood congealing where the iron cuff ended.

“Stéphane,” she whispered, confused by her own feelings as empathy, guilt and hopelessness swirled inside her. Instinctively she reached her hand towards his face and let it hover above his scruffy cheek uncertainly.

He seemed to collect himself at her soft whisper and dropped her hair abruptly, his eyes burning into hers as he shrunk back from her touch. _He was angry_ , the thought. Good. It meant he was not yet defeated.

Lola sat primly on the low table, now a makeshift chair. She smoothed her skirts, words failing her. The _plop plop plop_ of water hitting the floor somewhere became louder until it filled her head and the burgeoning silence that stretched between them.

“I’m not quite sure what I’m doing,” she began. “But I do know that I’m sorry that you’re here. Despite your words, I’ve not come here to lord over you.” Her eyes travelled over his face again. The skin was raw and broken, bruises purpling on the surface. Her voice softened. “I suspect Francis does that well enough.”

“I’m now the King’s man, to do with as he sees fit, or until my usefulness no longer exists.” His words were not self-deprecating; in fact, they contained some of his confident insolence of old. It stirred her anger.

“You regret none of your actions?”

“On the contrary, I regret them all. If I could change the past, the things I’ve done, I would.” His tone had changed, taking the fire from her. He was contemplative, regretful even. “Whether you or the King choose to believe it, my actions have always been based on my beliefs of what would be best for France. I was wrong perhaps in that. And I now faithfully pledge myself to serve France with honour. But I do not change my affirmation that Francis is not the right King-”

“That is treason!”

“-yet it does not make the sentiment less true. He is a boy playing in an arena with gladiators.”

“Then teach him! Help him be the King he can be. Instead you work to undermine his authority and sow discontent in his marriage.”

“I did no such thing. That, my dear Lola, Francis needs to accept responsibility for. I fear the vengeance exacted upon me with regimental frequency,” he touched his face gingerly, wincing when his fingers hit a tender spot, “is more about soothing the King’s conscience.”

She gasped, outraged and verbally attacked. “You threatened my son! Your own hunger for power threatened all the people I hold dear. Why would you ever believe I would choose to stand with you when you hung the noose above their heads?”

He was silent, his eyes burning into hers. She was not intimidated, staring back. She felt it between them then, despite the soiled setting, the energy that surged, the battle of wills, the illicit excitement.

“If it is still your belief, after everything we’ve shared, that I would harm your son, then I should thank you for betraying my trust before I fell so completely that I was blinded by your charms.”

Lola felt her face heat. Half because of his words, the other because she knew her accusation had been excessive. Despite her sentiment, she no longer believed he would hurt Jean-Philippe. Like his word on what had transpired with his previous wives, she couldn’t explain it, but she believed him.

“You were in no danger from my charms,” she defended.

“Is that so? I beg to differ.” His eyes blazed, his voice cold. “I might have dangled the carrot but I did not force Francis to bite. The King knows I’m right. But he refuses to accept his own part in this tragedy. My only son was murdered without a trial,” he said passionately, his voice strong and clear. “I was aware of Éduard’s flaws – he was insolent, inconsiderate and foolish – but he was my heir. Is it just that I accept his murder?”

Lola hung her head, aware that his sentiment reflected Mary’s. There was a deep truth to it. Not the whole truth, but a part of it.

“We had words, he and I, before he came to court.” The anger had left him and he swallowed hard, looking off into the darkened distance. “His errant behaviour was becoming increasingly problematic. I’d threatened to sever his allowance if he did not show some respect for the privilege bestowed upon him. That’s what I have to live with, the fact that despite how imperfect he was, he was mine and we parted in anger.”

Anything she thought to say sounded trite and inadequate. He couldn’t hide his pain and something permanent shifted inside of her. _I am not a soulless monster_ , he had once told her. _No, no he wasn’t_.

“We’ve all played a part. Perhaps if I’d acted sooner, we would not be where we are.”

“By acted sooner you mean betrayed my trust earlier?” He cocked a brow and it infuriated her.

“I mean stopped your asinine flirtation.”

Her head spun. He could inspire her compassion and her fury within the blink of an eye.

“By _your_ you surely mean _our_? I never took you for a woman who did not recognise her willingness to participate.” Lola rolled her eyes as he continued. “You enjoyed every moment as much as I did. I saw your fire; you blossomed under the challenge I presented you.”

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” she scoffed.

A small smile flitted across his lips and her heart betrayed her by tumbling. _I’ve missed him_. The realisation troubled her.

“No other man at court valued you for anything more than your beauty. They feared the King’s wrath and I was the only up to the challenge, willing to scratch beneath the icy facade you present to the world and uncover the passionate women beneath. No man at court could have made you happy.”

Lola stiffened at the sting of his words. “And you would have?” she challenged. “You are impossible.”

“Perhaps I was. But now I’ve learnt my lesson. Once a fool is the mark of a man. Every instance thereafter is the mark of a halfwit. I’m many things, but not that.” He stared at her through hooded eyes and she shifted uncomfortably. He had the ability to disconcert her as no one else. “You are forever safe of my advances Lola. No message is received more clearly than a knife to the proverbial back.”

“I did what was right,” she reiterated, refusing to feel disappointed. This was what she wanted, for him to leave her alone. “I’m sorry that you were hurt, but I’ll not feel the burden of it across my shoulders.”

“Sleep well then. Although I suspect, if the circles beneath your eyes are any indication, that sleep eludes you as much as it does me.” He was shrewd, even brought so low, his eyes missed nothing. “Your conscience stirs.” He grimaced, regret etched into his weary features. “In that we are aligned for mine torments me in equal measures. I stay awake in this pit and play the past months over in my head.” _I do too_ , she cried silently. “I see many opportunities to have done things differently. But foresight comes too late.”

Their eyes locked and eventually she looked away, confused by the regret she saw there, the twin emotion she felt stir within her.

“I should go.” Lola hesitated. “I will speak to Francis.” Although she was not sure what she would say.

His eyes hardened. “No.”

She didn’t contradict him. He had his pride.

Now that she’d seen him, should she feel peace? Relief? She felt none of it. Discontent stirred in her blood because Mary was right. Grudgingly, Narcisse was too. They were all to blame for where France now found itself. It began the moment the King and Queen had orchestrated the death of his son Éduard. No matter how they might justify it, it was the moment they had lit the tinder that now threatened to engulf them all in a raging fire.

She knocked on the door to alert the guard and turned back, seeing for the first time how he shivered. There was no blanket, nothing to stave off the cold. Impulsively she untied her cloak and returned to him. Ignoring the stern warning in his eyes, his pride making him vulnerable, she draped the fabric around him. Narcisse was unable to stop his body curling into the warmth it provided.

Lola felt tears prick behind her eyes and blinked them away rapidly. _This is not right_ , her conscience screamed, louder this time. He was clearly beaten with frequency, forced to endure shackles when he was already caged and stripped of his dignity. Not even he deserved this. She would speak to Francis, even if all it did was release him from the iron restraints.

He began to speak but she shook her head, her finger pressing lightly against his lips. Their eyes met and she flushed, dropping her hand as if scalded.

“Thank you.” The sentiment was genuine, heartfelt, his voice low and gruff with emotion.

Her insides clenched and she stood, leaving the stone chamber as fast as her legs would carry her. Back in her rooms, Lola sagged against the door, sliding down to the floor.

She knew she’d done the right thing. But she also knew that what was being done to Narcisse was wrong. _How do I make this right?_ They’d all made mistakes and they were all paying for it in cruel and unimaginable ways.

Lola thought again of Narcisse shivering in the corner of his cell and bit her lip anxiously. She was in great danger, she realised, of falling in love with a man who was an enemy of the King of France. She breathed out slowly, somehow simultaneously relieved and dismayed to acknowledge the truth.

Wiping at the tears that had rolled silently from her eyes, she moved, rummaging through her old chests. Armed with what she needed, she left her room and summoned a guard.

“See these clean clothes taken to Lord Narcisse directly. Also provide him with clean water to bathe.”

“My Lady, the King’s Deputy has left orders-”

“If Bash questions the edict, direct him to me. Now go!” Her tone and expression brooked no opposition. When he disappeared from sight, she went back to her chambers and sunk into a nearby sofa. Whether to sooth her own conscience or not, she had to find a way to make things right. Determined, she penned a note to Francis requesting an audience and left it for a servant to deliver.

If France was on fire, she would have to be the cooling rain.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Lola," Francis began when she entered his council room. "I have very little time. I have meetings with various nobles, there are complications with negotiations in the countryside and-"

Whether by design or circumstance, it took three days before Francis was able to see her. Twice she'd tried an impromptu visit but he'd been off on official business. Lola considered talking to Mary about Narcisse, but decided against it. Protocol dictated that she go to the King first. With matters as sensitive as they were, she didn't want to complicate things by causing offence before Francis had even heard her plea.

She gauged his mood. He seemed a little rushed, but his demeanour was not unpleasant. "Francis," she interrupted with a kind smile. "I won't keep you long. But..." she began carefully, "I would like to discuss the matter of Lord Narcisse."

The King frowned, looking up from the document he had been perusing. "What of Narcisse?"

"I went to see him in the dungeons."

He shrugged, exasperated. "I might have expected you would."

"Francis," Lola said gently, sitting down opposite him, the breadth of his table between them. "The condition under which he's being held is… inhumane."

"Inhumane?" She saw his temper flare and kept her tone even. She knew this wouldn't be an easy conversation, but a level head would likely accomplish more than encouraging his ire.

"He's filthy, his clothing fettered and covered in his own blood. He's not even been offered water to bathe. What of food?"

"He's a prisoner Lola, not a guest in this castle."

"And the beatings? Are they really necessary?" Her voice rose slightly and she composed herself. "He's shackled in a guarded cell. If his ultimate humiliation is your objective, then you've achieved it in spades."

"Narcisse has been the engineer of his own ruin. Now, if this was all you wanted to discuss, I have matters of greater importance to attend to."

Lola would not so easily be dismissed. "He's treated worse than an animal. Where is your compassion? This kind of cruelty is not you Francis. This is what Henry would have done."

"Compassion?!" he exploded. He stood then, leaning forward on the desk. His eyes shone with the force of his anger and Lola steeled herself to not shrink from it. "Narcisse has singlehandedly tarnished my reign. Everything that's happened to me, to Mary - to this country - is because of him. If I see fit to have him rot in my dungeons for all eternity, then I'll not be questioned on my motivations."

He was angry, agitated and she knew it might make him less susceptible to compromise. She had to try, so continued in her conversational tone.

"Narcisse may be many things, but he's not as omnipotent as you claim. Blaming him for every disaster gives him too much power, more than he has in reality and much more than he deserves. He has considerable clout with the remaining nobles, even now. He _has_ worked successfully with your father in the past."

"What are you saying, that this is my fault? That my inability to be as deviously diplomatic as my father has lead to this travesty?"

"No, not at all. I only want to point out that Lord Narcisse is capable of working _with_ the crown and not _against_ it." She hesitated. "Francis, his son was murdered-"

"And my wife was raped!"

"Francis!" The Queen stood in the doorway, a striking figure dressed all in white. A storm raged in her eyes and Lola was sorry to be caught in the middle of it.

"Lola, leave us," Mary said and Lola nodded, already rising. The queen stopped her before she exited. "You came to Francis to plead for Narcisse?"

She glanced at Francis who looked away in frustration, running a hand through his hair. The air in the room was wrought with tension. Lola only nodded.

"Why?"

"Perhaps we can discuss this another time. I could come and see you later or-"

"Now please."

Inwardly, Lola sighed. This wasn't going the way she'd hoped. She was now caught in the middle of a battle of wills between a defensive king and his warring queen. But she knew Mary long enough to recognise her tone. She wanted answers and nothing but the truth would satisfy her.

"I went to see Lord Narcisse in the dungeons. He was filthy Mary, covered in dirt and his own blood. I know that he's a prisoner of France, but he's also a very wealthy noble who continues to hold considerable sway with many of the most powerful houses in France. He is still of benefit alive and on your side." Lola aimed the last part at the king. "I believe him to be true in his vow to work with Francis. He could be a valuable ally."

" _You believe him to be true?_ " Francis scoffed. "Enough Lola. I'll not yield on this. Narcisse is my prisoner."

"Then at the very least remove his shackles!" Lola snapped. "The restraints are not needed when he's already so heavily guarded. What purpose does it serve but to humiliate him? How long before the vow he's made to be of assistance is eroded because of your lack of mercy?!"

"Lola-" Francis barked, ready for a fight.

Mary's hand touched her arm. "Go now; leave me to speak with the King."

Lola nodded, her face heated at her outburst. She kept her eyes downcast, afraid of the fire both king and queen would see in them. She was sorry for the tone she'd used, but not the words. She left the room, knowing now that she'd done more harm than good. She went to her son's nursery and played with him for the rest of the afternoon. She treasured those small moments, knowing that he could soon be sent to live with distant relatives and groomed for life at court.

She'd not been to see Narcisse again. But she'd ensured that fresh water was delivered to him daily. It was a small kindness but it helped ease her apprehension. Jean-Phillipe had fallen asleep in her arms and she shifted his weight, staring out of the window of his nursery, enjoying the afternoon sun.

The gentle breeze reminded her of the day she'd spent with Narcisse at his private residence. She became lost in thoughts of their leisurely tea and the unplanned, yet thrilling archery lesson that had followed.

 _The eye is more important than the hand,_ he'd said. _See your target, understand what you're aiming for, don't just physically let fly. Sight the centre. The rest of the circles are irrelevant._ She'd felt at the time he was boldly referring to his relentless pursuit of her.

He was a deeply complex man, she mused, layered and dark. But she sensed the deep stores of compassion he was capable of too. He was no soulless monster, but perhaps his goodness was buried deep after too many years of functioning independently and unrestrained. _Unloved._ His previous wives, beautiful she knew, had also been young and likely no real match for him. She sensed he had wanted to care for them, but their lack of experience with men such as he had left them frightened and he frustrated. Lola looked down at her son. Francis was a good father – a surprisingly good father considering their circumstances. But Narcisse hadn't had a great one - not even a good one it seemed. The former Lord Narcisse had pushed his son, placed the burden of their family's legacy upon him before he was even a man. _Married at fifteen?_ Lola shuddered, trying to picture the imposing, confident man as an inept boy, relentlessly pushed to produce an heir.

 _He is not a lost cause._ Lola switched off her subconscious and rose to lay down her son. She might admit that she had feelings for him, but that didn't mean she wanted to pursue a relationship with him, no matter how exciting the fantasy. Stéphane Narcisse was a dangerous man, dark, and perhaps too much to handle, even for her. Distance was best. He'd vowed to leave her alone and she would eventually be grateful that temptation had been removed. In time, she might be welcomed into the loving arms of her common sense - it seemed to have abandoned her the moment she'd met him.

There was a brisk knock on the door before it opened, and Francis entered with Mary at his heel.

"Francis, Mary, is something the matter?"

Both of them had grim expressions, determined, but grim. A frisson of unease rippled as she checked on the child who slept soundly, placing him in his crib, before motioning for the royal couple to follow her into the antechamber where they might talk more freely.

"Francis and I have discussed the matter of Lord Narcisse and we've reached a decision," Mary began.

"My wife has reached a decision and I-"

Lola watched her friend glare in her husband's direction and Francis stopped talking. His expression was irritated but he and took a step back, welcoming her to the explanation.

"The King and I," she said again, "have discussed your concerns. As it happens, I agree. Francis and I do not necessarily regard this matter the same way, but we can both agree that the current manner of dealing with the problem is both ineffective and disastrous should it be discovered by the nobles."

Lola felt the knot in her stomach loosen. _Perhaps they might even release him?_

"I have devised a solution that I believe would solve both our immediate problems. The first being that Lord Narcisse cannot be held in the dungeons indefinitely. You are correct in your assertion that he _is_ of greater value as a player in the game, not removed altogether. The second is trickier. While he is an asset, he cannot be left to his own devices, unchecked."

Lola nodded. What they said made sense.

"I propose – and Francis has agreed – that Narcisse must be married."

Lola's eyes widened.

"Married? To whom?" The thought upset her so suddenly she held her breath. "Claude?" In Lola's opinion, Princess Claude might have the sexual prowess to rival even Narcisse's, but she was a child still and not his intellectual equal – not that that would be a criteria Mary or Francis would've considered when choosing his bride.

Mary shook her head and Lola was ridiculously relieved.

"We considered the option. But Claude is not the type of wife who'd suit Narcisse. She's unpredictable and can offer no council he might value or respect. In addition, she's already betrothed to Prince Condé. We cannot undo what is already done."

Lola frowned. "Then who?"

" _You_ Lola," Francis said sharply, almost a jeer. "You shall be the sacrificial lamb."

Lola felt the room spin; sure she'd gone deaf for a second. Her eyes widened and she looked to Mary. The queen nodded, apologetic as her hands reached for Lola's.

"You've championed his cause," Francis continued. "You might as well take it all the way to the altar." With that, he left.

"Wed? To Lord Narcisse?" Lola dropped rather ungraciously into a nearby chair. "I don't understand. All I asked was that Francis show him mercy. I don't wish to wed him myself!"

Mary was sympathetic but her determined look told Lola that the decision had already been made. She felt her future slip from her grasp, tears of frustrated disappointment clouding her gaze. _Would no choice ever be my own?_

"I'm sorry for the callous way that Francis told you. He's not happy with the decision, but I insisted. I know he wouldn't have agreed if in some way he did not see the merits."

"Are you punishing me?" Lola asked, devastated at the decision her friend had made on her behalf.

"Punishing? Lola, no!" Mary said, rushing forward and sitting beside her friend. "Our... troubles... it's in the past. This is for France. We all have to play our parts." Lola was inert, unable to agree or deny. She couldn't think, feel, breathe, her corset suddenly too tight.

"You've always held that Narcisse was kind to his wives. Do you still believe that?"

Lola knew that the answer to this question held the power to break this insane agreement. _Just say yes_. She wanted to, badly. Frustrated tears welled in her eyes because she couldn't bring herself to betray his trust again. It would be an outright lie and despite everything, he had told her none.

"I do, he never hurt them. But-"

Mary nodded. "Then you shall be his wife. The union will ensure he's close enough to the crown. You're Jean-Phillipe's mother – a claimed Prince of France. And you're smart Lola. Your council will help ensure Narcisse is on our side."

"I cannot guarantee that he'd listen to me!" Lola said urgently. "He does not trust me, Mary. I've betrayed him more than once! This is madness. He's not the type of man to ask a woman for her opinion on political matters." But then she recalled the state secret he had entrusted her with.

"Neither was Francis when we met," Mary admitted. "Perhaps that is not the best example," she said with a sad smile. "But I've seen you two together. He desires you. Perhaps he even cares. Love is a powerful weapon."

But she was the one in love. Her heart was on the line.

"I can't marry him in order to betray him – _again_!" she exclaimed. "Have there not been enough lies already? He does not trust me and he has made this sentiment clear," she reiterated. "Please Mary, I don't want this."

Mary shook her head. "What you and he make of your marriage it is up to you. If I did not believe you could be happy, I wouldn't have suggested this. I know you care for him," Mary said. Lola looked away, embarrassed, appalled, resigned.

"You once thought him evil. This is your opinion of the man you would have me marry?"

" _You_ know right from wrong. If your husband errs, I trust you will do the right thing." _Basically, betray him if needs be._ Lola shuddered, suddenly cold.

"Does he know? Has he been told?"

"I thought I'd leave that to you. Francis is not in the right frame of mind and well... women have a softer touch." Mary squeezed her arm, rising to leave. "He was brought up from the dungeons before we came to see you and was taken to his chambers. I left word that he'd receive you shortly."

Lola couldn't help but think she was trapped in a cruel joke. But it was real, very real. She barely had a moment to herself before there was another knock and a servant entered. The girl curtseyed before saying, "Apologies Lady Lola, but Lord Narcisse is ready to receive you."

Lola stared at her as if she'd sprouted three heads. The girl squirmed. "My Lady, is everything alright?"

She snapped out of her daze and nodded. "Yes, thank you Céline."

She rose, smoothed her skirts and took a deep breath before taking tentative steps towards her future. There was so much going through her head all at once that she didn't notice her arrival until she was practically upon the threshold of his chambers.

There was no way to delay, no way to buy herself more time. She pressed her hands to her midsection and breathed in and out slowly, her corset straining as she inhaled deeply, staving off her panic. She schooled her features and knocked, the door opening almost instantly, surprising her. A servant bowed at her entrance and then discreetly left, closing the door behind him.

Narcisse stood across the room, pinning her with his blue gaze. He hadn't changed, nor bathed, but he did look marginally better than three days prior. He wore the breeches and shirt she'd sent but his beard hadn't been trimmed. She shifted nervously.

"Lord Narcisse," she began, licking her dry lips. _What do I say?_ Words seemed to fail her.

"Lady Lola." His voice was a lazy drawl, deceptively calm. "I imagine I might have you to thank for the fact that I can feel the sun on my face. Even if I expressly asked you not to."

"You're welcome," she said, irritated by the entire situation, but then bit the inside of her lip, softening. "Yes, I did speak to Francis."

"I can't believe that this feat would have come without sacrifice. What has the King demanded in return? Or is my freedom temporary and another elaborate scheme to torture me?"

"You've been released."

She saw him swallow hard, frowning as his eyes bore into her. "Why?"

"Would you sit?" She gestured to the settee and sat down opposite it. He raised a brow but eventually complied, innately self-assured as he moved. _How did he manage to look so in control, so confident and graceful when he needed a bath, a shave and a clean set of clothing?_

"You have to marry."

" _Marry_?" he growled.

"Yes."

"Princess Claude I take it?"

"No."

"No?" He was surprised and she was irrationally annoyed by his reaction.

"She's already betrothed to Prince Condé."

"Ah yes, Condé." He rolled his eyes. "Who am I to be saddled with then?"

"Me," she snapped, irritated by their terse, short-tempered exchange. Her back straightened, her pride at stake. "You've been ordered to marry me."

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly. She realised there was some pleasure to be gained from catching him completely off guard.

"No." His reaction was swift and immediate. " _No_."

She didn't know what she'd expected, but his swift denial cut her deeply. She'd die before she let him know that however.

"We have no choice."

"There is always a choice."

"You wish to see the hangman's noose?!"

"And my fate affects you how exactly?" His eyes narrowed speculatively.

"It doesn't!" She defended, refusing to be baited.

He said nothing for a while, his mind working as he stared at her. "How a few weeks changes one's perception on matters. Had I been offered this opportunity a fortnight ago, I can assure you, my response would have been much different."

"I do not relish the thought any more than you do. But it's done. We must accept it."

"And you will act as a spy I take it? Monitor my every move and report back to our King? I desire no wife I cannot trust." His eyes were cool.

"The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you." He smirked and she felt her annoyance rise. "Planning to overthrow the French monarchy anytime soon? If not, you have nothing to fear from me."

"Nothing?" His gaze burned into her once more. "And has the King ordained whether this marriage will be a real one... _in every way?"_ He raised a sardonic brow and Lola looked away. She was blushing again and mentally chastised herself.

She rose. "Good day, Lord Narcisse." She thought she heard him chuckle. _Intolerable man!_

"When shall I have the pleasure of seeing my _fiancé_ again?" His tone dripped with honeyed sarcasm.

"Tomorrow. We'll be wed in the morning." His eyes flashed and she took great pleasure in slamming the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

Lola had a fitful night's sleep. She'd gone to bed earlier than usual, hoping that the equanimity of slumber might offer some relief from her overactive, over stimulated imagination. But it had proved unwise. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, tossing around as she struggled to find a comfortable position. When eventually sleep claimed her, she woke at regular intervals with receding memories of increasingly erotic dreams filled with her future husband.

She wasn't an innocent, but the things she'd let him do to her in her dreams were practically indecent.  _Although wildly exciting_. Lola pushed her cool hands to her flushed cheeks and moaned in abject frustration. This was ridiculous! But the more her irritation with herself grew, the more nervous she became - raw, unadulterated nerves. It became a vicious cycle and so a while before dawn, she rose and gave up any pretence of sleep.

She lit a few candles and stoked the fire in the hearth, drawing her knees up as she sat in the comfortable wingback chair beside the fireplace. Watching the flames as they leapt, she contemplated the sheer madness of her fate. If anyone had told her that she'd be marrying Stéphane Narcisse, she would have thought them primed for the asylum. And yet here she was, on the eve of their union – a union that had nothing to do with love, devotion, respect or even mutual admiration. Yet it was an arrangement that was meant to last forever.

She glanced back towards the bed. Tomorrow she'd likely wake up in one just like it, with her new husband beside her. She shivered as disjointed images of their entwined bodies from her dreams flittered across her mind, an unwelcome burst of excitement pooling in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't fool herself into thinking he cared for her. Despite his assertions,  _had he ever really?_  He  _had_  been interested in the challenge she presented, but her duplicity however, had put paid to those intentions. She knew he'd wanted her in his bed - a mistress most definitely - but never a spouse.

_Well, now he will have me as a wife._

So lost in thought, she didn't hear her lady's maid enter. "My Lady, your bath will be prepared and your gown laid out."

"Thank you Céline."

She rose and sat in front of her dresser, staring at her reflection. Her life would never be the same after this. She searched her eyes, trying to wade through the plethora of her emotions. Even under such close scrutiny, she was as confused as ever. She touched her cheeks, watching as the skin pinked under the pressure. She'd foolishly entertained the notion that she'd be in control of her own destiny once she had secured her dowry – a feat she would never have accomplished without Narcisse's intervention.  _Now it would belong to him._  The irony was not lost on her.

Because of Jean-Phillipe she would always be close to court life, but she'd hoped that some measure of independence would be hers to savour. She'd even considered the fantasy that she might marry again, someone of her choosing, someone who loved her and who she loved in return.  _Something you have in common with Narcisse._

Lola felt despair clutch at her, but valiantly tried to shake it off. Many women in her position had been saddled with men who were much older, utterly undesirable and physically abhorrent. At least her husband didn't repulse her.  _No_ , she thought, chewing her bottom lip,  _Stéphane does not repulse me at all_. That perhaps was half the problem.

But the time for pondering her fate was over. She was bathed and powdered, scented creams and potions applied to every inch of her body. Her hair was brushed until it shone, then pinned atop her head, tiny pearls threaded through the thick, shiny mass. When she slipped into her gown, she felt her throat close up.  _This is my wedding day._  The reality hit her forcefully. Standing in front of the mirror, Céline righted the tiara on her head before stepping back and admiring her work.

"You look beautiful, my Lady."

Mary, Kenna and Greer entered and a flurry of activity followed.

There hadn't been much time to arrange trousseau or an elaborate gown. This wasn't  _that_  kind of wedding anyway. She'd already decided to wear one of her old gowns – perhaps the one she'd worn for Mary's wedding - when Kenna had protested vehemently,  _"Lola, no! It doesn't matter who you're marrying, the groom should always have his knees knocked out from under him. An old gown will not do!_ " She doubted Narcisse was the type to get weak-kneed, but kept her thoughts to herself. And so Mary had gifted her with a wedding dress that she couldn't refuse.

The gown was a simple luminous gold satin sheath overlaid with chiffon in the same incandescent colour. It hugged her body and flared out, flowing elegantly from the dropped waist into a simple train. The low scalloped neckline in the front displayed her delicate collarbones while a V in the back gathered to a row of tiny satin covered buttons that ran to the base of her spine. Around the cuffs of the long chiffon sleeves there was simple beadwork which complimented the narrow satin ribbon that accentuated her waistline.

She took in her reflection and breathed out slowly.

"You look stunning," Kenna said, adding the final touch – her veil.

"Wait," Mary said. "There is something missing." She opened a velvet purse and a large pair of shimmering teardrop diamond earrings spilled into the palm of her hands.

The bride and her company gasped in unison.

"Mary, it's beautiful but it's too much," Lola protested.

"It's a gift from Lord Narcisse."

Lola looked from the glittering jewels to Mary in surprise. She'd not seen or heard from him since she'd left his chambers the afternoon before. In fact, she'd wondered whether he would even be present at the ceremony. She ran her fingers over the sparking drops, confused because nothing made sense and everything seemed upside down.

"Come." Greer took the earrings and carefully affixed them. "Perfect."

"Lord Narcisse definitely knows his jewels," Kenna winked. "I might have to have a conversation with Bash."

Lola smiled but her nerves rose to choke her. The friends sobered, reading her mood correctly.

"Everything is going to be alright," Kenna said, kissing her on the cheek. "You'll see."

Greer nodded, but Lola could tell she was worried. Greer was always worried. And usually, it was warranted.

Everything was so surreal. The ceremony was small, only her two friends, Bash, the King and Queen in attendance. As she walked down the short aisle, she was afraid to look at Narcisse, anxious of what she'd see there. But her eyes couldn't help but find him as he turned to watch his coerced bride make her way towards him.

The small room was filled with a frigid tension that was hard to bear. There was no happiness at this union, no joy for herself or her friends.  _I do not want this._ She knew he didn't want it either _._  Her eyes went to Greer who nodded to her encouragingly. Mary and Francis - both her friends and sovereigns – had asked her to make this sacrifice for the greater good.  _Was that resentment she felt bubble inside of her? Surely this was too large a request to make? What did he feel if she felt such bitterness?_

She reminded herself to breathe, momentarily stunned by just how handsome he looked in a black doublet intricately embroidered with gold. He wore black breeches, the morning light glinting off his polished boots. His beard and hair had been trimmed, exposing the angled planes of his cheekbones. To her, his shoulders seemed incredibly broad and strong, every inch the French aristocrat. She panicked, overwhelmed, confused, afraid of everything she felt for him and knew she should not.

But then she  _looked_  at him; looking for understanding, compassion, looking for  _something_. Their eyes met and everything else faded to the periphery. Up close she could see the cuts and bruises on the surface of his face. None of those imperfections detracted from how resplendent he looked. Intense blue eyes captivated her, irrevocably drawing her steadily towards him as two magnets destined to meet. Those eyes never left hers, an ironic anchor throughout a ceremony that passed in a blur.

He placed a solid gold band onto the third finger of her left hand and it was done. She felt branded, possessed - she was now  _his_. Where their hands touched, her fingers hummed with life, frissons of sensation radiating from her fingertips towards her heart.

His eyes pulsed with an intensity that matched the grim set of his features. Whatever calm she'd managed to achieve fled when his mouth descended towards hers, sealing their covenant. His lips were soft, the kiss chaste and still it stole her breath. As he leaned out of the kiss she found herself automatically leaning into him, hesitant to break the contact. Her cheeks bloomed with colour, grateful for the welcoming embrace of her friends.

The ladies rushed forward, offering stilted congratulations. Francis nodded curtly in Narcisse's general direction, excusing himself from any further proceedings. Bash was slightly more courteous, offering Narcisse his hand, although he too, she knew, was barely civil towards her new husband. She couldn't even blame them for feeling thus. Her husband had done questionable things and he would never be welcome amongst her closest circle of friends. It was for this reason that there was no elaborate dinner, no drawn out celebration. After the tense ceremony, they were leaving for his country estate where they'd make their home.

Alone for a moment as Narcisse tended to the formal paperwork relating to their marriage, Lola and her friends talked in private. She removed her veil and retrieved her travelling cloak.

"Are you alright? You look nervous," Greer said. "I thought that once the ceremony was over you might feel more settled."

 _Settled?_  Lola thought.  _I will never be_ settled _again_.

"I'm fine. This entire situation... everything has happened so fast."

"I'd say it might have something to do with the fact that your husband unnerves you. Lord Narcisse is not  _my_  type, but it would be mistaken of me not to mention that he looked particularly handsome." Lola rolled her eyes at Kenna who clearly tried to lift her mood with light-hearted teasing. "And," she continued, " _I did not miss that kiss!_ " She wiggled her eyebrows but then her expression sobered. "It's not ideal Lola, but enjoy what you can. At least we both know he knows what he's doing in the bedroom..." she whispered.

"Kenna!" Greer admonished.

"What? It's true! How many women can claim that their wedding night is guaranteed to be a pleasurable experience?"

Mary entered. "Jean-Phillippe will be well taken care of. You have nothing to worry about."

"I don't like leaving him behind." It unsettled her, leaving her son at the castle. Francis would also not allow him to be housed with Narcisse. She was forced to separate from her son in order to marry a man that everyone loathed. Resentment sizzled.

"You are not far. Besides, you're on your honeymoon."

"This is not real Mary," she reminded her queen evenly. "Lord Narcisse and I are not in love. This is-"

Greer hugged her for a second, still unable to hide her concern. "Oh Lola, I'm sorry."

Mary looked away, her face strained and Lola felt contrite about her escalating resentment. Tears rushed to her eyes and her friends stepped close, their arms collectively wrapping around her. They stood like that for a long while, reminding her of all the times over the years they'd stood thus. There was a discreet knock at the door and her husband appeared.

_Husband._

"Forgive me, but we should be on our way." His lazy drawl raised the hairs at the back of her neck to attention and Lola nodded as they disengaged. Mary wiped her tears, her eyes apologetic before she kissed both her cheeks soberly. Greer gave her an encouraging smile and Kenna pressed a package into her hand.

"What is this?"

Kenna winked. "A little something. Open it when you're alone."

Lola moved from the room and cautiously took the arm that Narcisse offered her. They walked through the corridors, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Her heartbeat raced, threatening to burst from her chest.

"You've been crying," he said, giving her a sideways glance.

"It's nothing."

He was silent for a moment before stopping abruptly. She looked to him, querying.

"I would never hurt you," he said. "I know that... things are... complex between us. But if that is your concern, be assured. Despite the rumours, I would not see harm come to you."

His words were the very last things she had expected to hear. She had no idea the effect her eyes, so wide, blue, so vulnerable had on him. His voice vibrated with sincerity and it almost undid her resolution to try and remain stoic.

Overwhelmed, she only nodded. He waited, expecting her to say something but she could not. When he began to walk again, his back was just a little straighter. She had offended him. But there was nothing to be done. Their situation was untenable.

"Thank you," she said, "for the gift." She touched the earrings. "They're beautiful."

They'd reached the carriage and he extended his hand to help her in. Lola took it, the tension back, the spark sizzling between them.

"Yes, yes they are indeed. A rare jewel."

The way he was looking at her told her he was not referring to the earrings at all. She dropped her gaze and settled inside, smoothing her skirts and expelling a shallow breath. Narcisse climbed in and sat opposite her. She wished then that he'd sat beside her instead so she didn't have to look at him. She gazed out of the window, seeing nothing, feeling  _everything_. His eyes watched her closely though, the sensation in equal measures arousing and unnerving.

Exasperated, she turned to look at him.

"Lord Narcisse, will you insist on staring at me for the entire journey?"

He raised a brow, his eyes alight with challenge. "My dear Lola, we are now husband and wife. Shall we dispense with the formalities?" He inclined his head. "Stéphane, please."

She nodded. She'd only called him that once before, the day she'd visited him in the dungeons. There was an intimacy, a familiarity associated with using someone's given name. Although it was absurd, the idea left her feeling bashful.

"Stéphane."

"You looked beautiful today."

"The dress was a gift from Mary. Kenna claimed I didn't have anything suitable and with everything happening so fast, I-" she broke off, realising she was frightfully close to rambling. "I don't need to explain this to you."

"Indeed; caught as we are by the whims of a king and his queen."

"This was not a whim." She didn't believe her own words.

"Then am I to believe this is meant to be a love match?" he said sarcastically.

Her face flushed with mortification masked by anger. It soothed. Anger was an emotion she felt better equipped to manage. "Don't be ridiculous."

"My thoughts exactly. You were wed to me, against my will in order to ensure that I have a spy in my household, willing to share my every move with my sovereign."

"I'm not a spy!" she explained. But Lola knew her words were false. In essence, that was  _exactly_  what she was.

"What are you then?"

"I am your wife!" she exclaimed. "I didn't ask to be wed to you any more than you asked to be my husband. And yet this is what has been asked of us from our King and Queen."

"How painfully loyal you are," he said drolly, but his eyes were alive with anger.

"Yes, and how traitorous you are."

"Well then, they do say opposite attract."

"Go to hell."

"Do you claim that you feel nothing for me?"

"I do not need to lay claim to anything. It's the truth. You're my husband because my Queen has deemed it so. You were not my choice. There is nothing else between us."

"Really?" His eyes travelled over her, heating her from her face to the souls of her feet. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and hated her body for betraying her. "I beg to differ."

"I feel nothing for you but courtesy." The lie slipped from her lips with so much conviction, she almost believed it. The anger that sparked in his eyes told her that he believed it too.  _A hollow victory._

"Courtesy?"

She swallowed, too angry at him, too angry at herself for her traitorous feelings. "Hard of hearing my Lord?"

They glared at each other across the small distance, the air crackling with tension and a sexual fervour so thick Lola thought it would consume them. Her breath hitched, leaving her feeling as if she had run some distance. The carriage came to a stop and the door opened, breaking the flaming spell.

With one long final look, Narcisse alighted, passing her his hand. She hesitated a second before taking it, stepping out beside him.

"Welcome home Lady Narcisse." She looked at him then, trying to find the ridicule in his words, but there was none. She looked at the vast house and swallowed. This was now her home.

"The servants will take up your things. I'll leave you to settle."

"Where will you be?" The words were out before she could stop them. It was their wedding day and he would leave her alone? She didn't know if she was insulted, relieved or disappointed.

"I have business with my grounds man." He was curt but hesitated a moment longer. He appeared to want to say more but didn't. He raised a hand to touch her face and she shrugged out of his reach, instantly regretting the reflex reaction. Her apology died on her lips when he bowed stiffly, turning to leave, his stride confident as he crossed the courtyard. She couldn't help herself. She watched him until he was out of sight. No man upset, confused,  _infuriated_  her more.

Taking a deep breath she lifted her skirts and followed a servant up the broad steps leading inside.

_Welcome home._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading. It looks like the Reign writers might be ignoring these two in the foreseeable future. Thank God for fanfic :)

Lola spent the rest of the afternoon overseeing the unpacking of her belongings. Not everything had come with her - many of her trunks containing clothing, books and other personal effects were following a few days later. A servant unpacked a deep red robe, laying it across the bed as she sorted the rest of a trunks content. The robe, she recalled, was the one Narcisse had given her the night she'd stepped from his bathtub. She felt her cheeks warm and looked away. She'd been to this estate before, but as an agent of the King, not its mistress.  _Deception had clouded their relationship even then_ , she mused.

The day she'd visited at Francis's behest had been, if she was honest, the most frightening experience of her life. She wasn't experienced enough to deal with a man so dangerously charming, so confident, with so much sexual magnetism. His challenge to see her in his bath had been designed to discomfort her - she didn't believe he'd expected her to  _actually_  acquiesce to his wicked test. Perhaps that was why he knew it had been a ruse. Reckless, angry, impulsive,  _desirable_... he stirred her blood and mixed her emotions as only an expert potions master should. She'd willingly stepped into a tangled web that night, one she'd never managed to extricate herself from.

True to his word, he hadn't touched her though. In fact, he'd left her to dress at her leisure, waiting in the drawing room for her answer to his challenge – their mutual journey towards trust. She'd shattered that covenant more than once and he however, Lola realised jarringly, had never broken hers.

The rooms she was shown to now, as his wife and as mistress of this house, were large and spacious, French doors opening onto a shaded terrace. By late afternoon she had tea brought to her on the balcony, appreciating the beautiful view of the French countryside. The estate was vast, one of the wealthiest in France. Its lineage was impressive and had been in the Narcisse family for centuries. She also knew the stables were impressive, something that excited her. She loved horses passionately and looked forward to riding as often as she could.  _Perhaps life here would not be so lonely._

She glanced back into her rooms briefly before taking a sip of her tea, thoughtful. She'd had to school her features when she was brought in, not allowing the servants to see her surprise at her allocated accommodations. It was clear the rooms did not belong to her husband _. So they would not share a bedroom?_  A shiver of barely suppressed relief passed through her. He seemed the type of man who would want his wife close.  _Was it possible to feel relieved that she wouldn't have to deal with his larger-than-life presence within the intimate confines of a shared bedroom and yet simultaneously insulted that_ he _didn't seem to want_ her _in his space?_  He made everything more complex – especially her feelings.

Lola had always been a logical, practical thinker and viewed the world for what it was, not what it might be. While she hadn't relished the idea of becoming his mistress - no matter how enticing - assuming that they would  _not_  be intimate as husband and wife was foolish. He had made no secret of the fact that he wanted children – heirs (plural) - and she was now his wife. Her heart fluttered and her stomach dropped.  _Dear god. What had she gotten herself into?_

 _Would he come to her tonight?_  They hadn't parted amiably, and she was so completely out of her depth. Lola felt her nerves rise again and put down her teacup, her fingers knotting in her lap anxiously. She'd done this before.  _But not with anyone like him._ They barely knew each other, barely had time to assimilate the idea that they'd be married. They'd not even discussed what this marriage would be – it wasn't conventional. Nothing about Narcisse was conventional. _Oh god this was a mistake._ She felt panicked again.  _Why had she even agreed to this?_

_I had no choice._

She stood, moving to the balcony railing and stepped into the late afternoon sun. She desired him; the yearning unlike anything she'd felt before. It was hot, urgent, felt like it had been building incrementally since the moment they'd met. Mutual desire - many a marriage had been built on less. However intimacy brought with it a barrage of complications she didn't want. But what had she expected? They were married. This arrangement was permanent.

A package on the table caught her eye and she frowned. It was the gift Kenna had given her before they'd departed from court. Unwrapping it, Lola gasped. No wonder Kenna had asked her to open it when she was alone!

It was a negligee in the deepest red, almost maroon, all soft lace and small satin bows. It had a matching robe, slightly less revealing as it swept to the floor, its sleeves voluminous and billowing, a broad sash around the waist. It certainly left little to the imagination.  _Dared she wear something like this?_  Lola flushed and clumsily rewrapped the gift, placing it back into its packaging, hiding it from sight. She couldn't look at it; it elevated her nerves exponentially.

Suddenly the room was stifling and she needed more air than the balcony allowed. It had been hours since they'd returned.  _Was Stéphane still with his grounds man?_  She grabbed her cloak and left her room, retracing her steps from earlier. This time she walked slowly, impressed by the elegance of his home. It was old and proud, speaking to its dignified heritage. There were beautiful tapestries on the walls and she stopped, admiring some paintings in one of the galleries.

"My Lady," a servant stopped abruptly as she passed. "Might I assist with anything?" The girl was young, in her teens most likely and slightly plump. She had a pretty face, deep brown eyes and dark hair.

Caught off guard, Lola tried not to feel guilty about being caught wondering around what was now her home. "No, no thank you." She hesitated a moment. "Where is Lord Narcisse?"

The girl shifted awkwardly, her eyes downcast. "He's left the estate on some business my Lady." She looked embarrassed, most likely wondering why a new husband would leave his bride on their wedding night.

Lola felt the rush of embarrassment and asked kindly, "What is your name?"

"Jacqueline." She curtseyed again.

"How long have you worked here?"

"My family has served the Narcisse household for generations. I've worked on the estate for years but came to the main house when Lord Narcisse married the Lady Estelle." She clamped her lips shut.

"Did you have cause to serve her?" She was shamelessly probing for information but her curiosity got the better of her.

"The late Lady Narcisse?" She was surprised at the question. "No my Lady, except-"

"Yes?" Lola prodded.

"I shouldn't say." Her eyes went to the floor again, clearly uncomfortable.

"Jacqueline?" she pressed with a smile.

"Lady Estelle was fragile, my Lady and I was once asked to watch her is all." The girl blushed scarlet, embarrassed to part with such intimate information. "If there is nothing else...?"

Lola had so many questions but the servants were not the ones to ask. Narcisse had once told her Estelle had tried to take her life. She shivered at the thought.

"Where are the stables?" she asked impulsively and followed Jacqueline's lead.

* * *

 

Despite the stable boy - Pierre's - protests (it was getting late and he urged her to not go too far for it would be dark soon) Lola had a horse saddled and within half an hour, felt the rush of freedom as she urged her steed faster. The boy had offered to accompany her, but she'd declined, needing the space of a solitary ride.

She raced along the banks of the river before turning towards a well ridden path into the forest. It would be dark soon, perhaps ten minutes before turning back. Everywhere she looked it was lush and green. The estate was beautiful. As she rode, she wondered whether she'd be able to make a home here. It was the home he'd shared with his previous wives, all who seemed to be cursed with ill fates. Unbidden, a thought came to her.  _Had he consummated his marriage to Estelle?_

The hoot of an owl startled her as she reigned in the horse, slowing her pace. The forest had turned to long shadows. She looked overhead and noticed that the light was fading fast. Turning, she set the horse into a light canter back in the direction she'd come. She'd ridden for longer than intended. As she exited the forest, a rider approached in the shadows as if the devil himself was upon the horses heels. Her pulse leapt. The estate housed tenants and it was never a good idea to encounter a stranger when alone. It was almost dark now, the lights of the house a beacon in the distance. Urging the horse on with her knees, she wearily eyed the approaching rider.

"Lola!"

"Stéphane?" She watched her husband approach on the back of a glorious stallion.

"What were you thinking riding out at sunset? You are not familiar with the grounds, or the forest! You could easily have become lost!" He was livid.

Taken aback by his vehemence, she stopped her horse beside him. "I am a competent rider, you know this. I just wanted-"

"Why did you not bring the stable hand with you?" His horse circled, restless, affected by its master's mood.

"Because it wasn't necessary! I wasn't planning to be out long."

"Yet it's now nightfall."

"I lost track of time." Exasperated at the interrogation, she demanded, "What is the matter with you?"

"There are many trails on the estate, but only one road that will take you back to court." His eyes were hard, his mouth a thin, angry line.

Realisation dawned and she gaped at him. "You thought I'd run away?" She was half amused, half appalled that he would have such an opinion of her character.

"You would not be the first." His response left her without words, uttered with such disheartening candour. His eyes burned with some unknown emotion and she felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I wanted to ride. That is all." She felt the emotional pull towards him and tried to place the barrier between them back in place. "Besides, you left me by myself all day. In fact, one of the servants told me you'd left the estate. I don't see why my whereabouts should concern you at all when you've shown me so little courtesy."

"I had business with my-"

"-grounds man." Lola urged her horse into motion. "Yes, I know."

He called her name, then cursed, but she galloped on, heading towards the light.  _What had happened with his previous wives that he would fear her fleeing to escape him?_  She now recognised his anger as fear. His vulnerability touched and confused her.

He caught up easily but they rode alongside each other in silence. Not encumbered by skirts, he was off his horse as soon as they reached the stables. Pierre was already reaching for her reigns and he waved the boy on.

"I'll see to Lady Lola."

He reached for her bridle, then looked up at her. Lola considered ignoring him and attempting to get off the horse herself but decided against it.  _Why not take the hand he offered?_  The sooner she was on the ground, the sooner she could walk away. He reached for her waist and her hands braced against his upper arms. She knew it was a mistake the minute her fingers touched him. His skin was warm, the heart seeping through the fabric of the shirt he wore. Without a jacket, he was the most casual she'd ever seen him in breeches and a white shirt. She swallowed hard, chorded muscle beneath her touch. As she slid to the floor, her hands followed her decent until they rested on his wrists. At his sharp intake of breath, she looked down and gasped. She let go immediately, her fingers suspended over the broken skin.

"I'm so sorry," she said instinctively. She reached for his hand again and gently rotated it palm side up. The butterflied birth mark was bruised, scabbing over in some places, a little raw yet in others, the results of the shackles he'd endured in captivity.

He placed a finger under her chin and raised it to look at him. This time she didn't flinch and his eyes lit with awareness. "It's nothing."

Again she felt him looking for something in her eyes, as if he were attempting to solve a complex riddle. Her throat went dry, and she licked her lips nervously.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Only when forced to chase down an errant wife."

Her lips curved a little because his eyes sparkled with mirth, the corners creasing attractively. She saw a glimmer of the man she'd come to know. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to hold on to him.

"A consequence of leaving her to her own devices," she shot back, surprised by her own boldness. She blushed, relieved that it was now dark and her face was obscured.

The horse whinnied and he removed his wrist from her ministrations. Lola turned her attention to the animal, rubbing his neck softly. Narcisse continued tracking her movements, making her feel awkward but warm.

"Pierre," he called, his eyes ever on her. The boy appeared and took the reins, disappearing into the stables.

"Shall we?" He offered her his arm and biting the inside of her lip, she took it lightly, falling into step beside him as they walked in companionable silence through the darkness, the only sound that of the earth crunching beneath their feet.

"I hope your rooms are comfortable."

"Yes, thank you."  _Where will you be sleeping?_ She was not courageous enough to give the thought a voice. "From what I've seen, the estate is beautiful."

"It's been in my family for generations. My father, although generally unpleasant, did take pride in teaching me about the land. It was the one thing we did together that I recall with some fondness. He was passionate about the people. I sometimes wondered how he could be so generous with others and yet so cruel to his own." Lola's hand tightened on his arm instinctively when his voice had trailed off. "It is an honour to be entrusted with the legacy."

"It is prosperous? I've heard your grain stores are vast."

"Quite. This should have belonged to Éduard. I had hoped he would learn responsibility before the title passed to him."

"You will have other sons." The sentiment was out before she could stop it. "I mean... what I meant to say is... you are..." Lola shut her mouth and looked away, her face the colour of beets she was sure.  _Where had that come from?_  She hadn't been thinking, that's what.

She could hear the smile in his words. "I would hope so."

They'd reached the base of the stairs in the drawing room and reluctantly, Lola let go of his arm. There was an intimacy established that she was loathe to lose, having seen a glimpse of the charming suitor of old.

"It's late," she said, her eyes meeting his bashfully.

Narcisse trailed a finger down her cheek and she shivered, her eyes closing momentarily at the contact. He leaned in and her knees trembled a little, her eyes closing in silent expectation.  _She wanted his kiss this time_ , she realised. But it never came.

"I shan't seek to take what is not given freely," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She gasped in surprised mortification, her eyes wide, staring into his. Humiliated to be caught in such raptures, she turned and fled.

"Shall I ask a servant to draw you a bath and bring you your dinner?" he called after her.  _Was he chuckling?_  Her only response was the dirty look she shot his way before disappearing out of sight.

"Goodnight Lola." The lazy drawl  _infuriated_  her.

Her heart beat wildly as she entered her chambers shut the door behind her. Mortified, angry,  _unsatisfied_. Despite everything, she was in lust with her husband. She pinched her eyes shut.  _Dear god, she wanted him._

_And he knew it._

After the long day, her frazzled nerves could take no more. She knew Narcisse was the worst kind of trouble and yet she wanted him anyway. She missed her son too and wondered whether he would settle without her. Her feelings of resentment towards Mary and Francis resurfaced. Tonight the king got to see his son before he went to bed while she was here, his duplicitous spy.

Disappointed, miserable and so very lonely, Lola curled into a tight ball above the covers. Before long, tracts of moisture still drying on her face, she fell into an exhausted sleep. So tired was she, she didn't hear the gentle knock at the door, the tentative approach of footsteps, feel the soft touch of a hand that brushed her hair from her cheek or the cool lips that pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Thank you everyone for reading. I am enjoying the buildup between these two - the "getting to know each other" phase. But there's some drama up ahead. Enjoy

The routine of life in her new home established itself with surprising ease. As with any move to a new home, there was a lot to arrange, staff to get to know and tenants to meet.

After the embarrassment of their wedding night, Lola was determined to keep a courteous distance between herself and her husband. Narcisse was, she realised, a man of great contradiction. He had refused to marry her, and yet despite her attempts at distance, he conspired to engineer the opposite. They had breakfast together every morning, retired to his library to read in companionable silence at night, he teased, they debated, he flirted. Except, she mused, he didn't touch her.

_Would her heart ever cease its betrayal at the sight of him?_

The irony of it all soon became glaringly apparent to her. He was now the one maintaining (an intimate) distance from her. The more he placed that barrier between them, the more she realised, she yearned to eradicate it.

Two weeks after her marriage, Lola set off on a ride in the countryside. Pierre was a wonderful guide, chatty and informative as he directed her through the list of tenants on the property. She knew that Narcisse had a great affection for this land and its people – it was his sanctuary – and she wanted to know more about it, perhaps also to understand him better.

The village was bustling with life and activity. While they didn't stop to sample any of the wares in the market, Lola enjoyed being outside in the sunshine - a casual observer to a very different kind of life. The local's stared and whispered when they realised who she was – but she sensed no malice, only curiosity. On their return journey, they went via the homestead of the estate's grounds man. While Pierre watered the horses, she explored a little, impressed with the condition of the homes and livestock. Like his father, Stéphane was clearly a good Lord to his people.

"Lady Narcisse?" Lola turned, surprised still at how the title sounded. "You honour us with a visit."

A woman, about her age, approached her tentatively and curtseyed. Lola smiled back sheepishly, unsure of what to say.

"I hope we have not intruded. Pierre has taken the liberty of watering our horses before we journey towards the estate. We have both been out longer than intended."

"Pierre is my son; his father is grounds man to Lord Narcisse. I am Claudia."

Lola was surprised, but looking closely could discern a similarity in the boys light colouring. "He is a charming companion. He has been showing me my husband's estate."

"Please, if there is anything else we can assist with... Would you not come and take some refreshment?" The woman gestured towards a small home. She was about to refuse, but the quiet interest in her eyes changed her mind.

"I only have a minute, but I'd be delighted."

Lola followed as Claudia gestured for her to enter first. Like the outside had indicated, it was small, but very neat. The inside smelled of citrus, the small table in the centre of the kitchen gleaming. The entire space consisted of a kitchen to one side, and living space on the other. There was a small, single bed tucked in a corner. At the back of the room, a narrow staircase led to a loft inside the roof. This was likely where the sleeping quarters were housed. There were flowers on various surfaces, the pretty blossoms from the field Lola had seen behind the homestead.

"We don't have much, but it is an honour to have the lady of the great house in our home."

"I thank you for having me. How long have you lived here?" She removed her coat before sitting on a chair at the table.

The scent of lemon rose from the glass set down in front of her and she took a small sip. It was lemonade. Delicious and cool. Claudia hovered and Lola motioned for her to sit also.

"Like most of the tenants who work on the estate - all my life. My parents worked the land and so do I."

"You're happy here?" Lola pressed.

"Quite, my Lady. Lord Narcisse has always been fair to all who work for him. My husband, Bernard, has cause to work closely with Lord Narcisse and remarks on his keen mind and understanding of the land." Lola tried to discern whether Claudia was merely being polite in her estimation of Narcisse's character, but she could detect nothing duplicitous in her simple address. He truly seemed well liked and respected. _Where then did the rumours come from?_

There was a shuffle outside the door and an old woman entered, moving rather slowly. Claudia rose, assisting the woman to a chair.

"Lady Lola, this is my mother, Agnes. Mother, this is Lady Narcisse. Pierre has been taking her around the estate."

The old woman looked at Lola with a critical eye and she shifted in her chair. She felt as if she was being quartered, measured and her merit determined. She straightened her back and tried to maintain a collected air.

"A pleasure to meet you, Agnes."

"You're the first of Lord Narcisse's wives to venture into the countryside." Agnes was stooped, her skin lined with wrinkles which spoke of hours in the sun. Her hair was grey, covered in a blue scarf. But her eyes twinkled with good humour.

"Mother!"

Lola relaxed. "It's alright, please. It's alright." She smiled at the old woman. "I think it important to understand this land and the people on it."

The old woman smiled too, pleased by Lola's direct response.

"I've known Lord Narcisse most of his life. I worked for the older Lord at the time when he was born. Watched him grow into a fine young man," she said. Her words carried affection, respect. Lola was intrigued.

"Lord Narcisse told me his father loved the land and its people."

Agnes scoffed and Claudia shifted uncomfortably. "The older Lord Narcisse was a good master, but he was a cruel man in most other respects."

"Mother, please. My Lady, I apologise-"

The older woman waved her hand. "I am old, Claudia. There is no time for civilities. Lady Narcisse should appreciate the truth. I shan't coat it with platitudes."

Lola nodded. "I appreciate your candour, Agnes."

"I see he has married a strong one this time. Good. Lord Narcisse deserves it."

Lola blushed but didn't say anything. "My husband has told me some of his difficulties with his father." That was a stretch, but Lola was not going to lose the opportunity to learn more about him and his family.

"Despite his father's cruelty, I recall watching Lord Narcisse try his utmost to please him. It broke my heart to see him ride his stallion across this land as if the devil chased its tail. It was usually a sign that there had been some unpleasantness at the house. I had only seen the first Lady Narcisse a handful of times, but she was young, frail – beautiful - but frail. She died after their third was stillborn."

It pained her to think what it must have been like to lose three children. She knew about the miscarriages, she did not know about the three babies that had been carried to term. She thought then of Jean-Phillipe, her longing to see her son almost unbearable.

"There have been rumours-"

Agnes shrugged, waving her hand as if trying to dispel a foul smell. "Nothing but idle tongues wagging in an effort to find something to do. He is not a man to be trifled with. I've seen him deal with those who have crossed him. But I am sure you are already aware, Lady Lola." Her eyes gaze was direct but not unkind. "He is a powerful Lord with much influence. Such men do not attract the mutual admiration of others. They attract ire and jealously. Lord Narcisse is shrewd, but not cruel."

Lola took a cooling sip of her drink, inexplicably pleased to learn that her husband was capable of good. In fact, it seemed like he was _more_ than capable of good. Something inside of her warmed at the knowledge.

"Mother, please do not speak so intimately of the Lord Narcisse," she whispered, aiming an embarrassed, pained smile in Lola's direction. Claudia was distressed. Her mother's loose tongue, while relaying valuable information, was quite unacceptable. "It is not proper."

"Perhaps it is not," Lola acknowledged. "But I appreciate your frankness and your loyalty. It is clear that you respect my husband a great deal."

Agnes winked. "Those who speak ill of him do not reside on his land. For no one across this vast acreage has any cause for complaint."

Lola spent another half hour with Agnes and her daughter, enjoying insights into her husband and his family. Perhaps it was not her place to pry, but how else would she come to understand more about him. Soon Pierre arrived at the door, his hat in hand.

"We should be heading back to the house, my lady."

Lola stood, genuine in her sentiment. "Thank you Claudia and Agnes for your hospitality."

"You are the first lady to make the effort," Agnes reminded. Lola smiled at her, leaning over to squeeze the frail hands.

"If it is not an imposition, I would like to visit again."

Claudia curtseyed. "You would honour us."

Back on her horse, her mind swirled with the information she'd learned. Narcisse's reaction to the loss of his son now became clearer. He had been through this many times before. She could now understand how that loss might have driven him to do unimaginable things – even if perhaps he didn't realise it was as a consequence of grief he has not yet dealt with.

Lola was roused from her thoughts by Pierre. "Lord Narcisse, my Lady."

Ahead of them her husband was knee deep in dirt, his shirt plastered to his chest as he casually conversed with some men. Her eyes popped out of her head at the unlikely sight. His hands were dirty. _Had he physically been working the land?_ The idea seemed preposterous. A Noble, shoving away in the earth and yet here he was, the evidence before her.

"Lady Lola," he called. "You've had a pleasant day?" He sounded relaxed, more at ease than she'd ever seen him.

"Quite diverting actually," she said, her astonishment written all over her face as her horse came to a stop beside him.

"I apologise for my less than formal attire." He gestured to his stained clothing but there was no contrition on his face. All she saw was ease and satisfaction. He looked... _happy._ The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled back to his elbows, giving her a painful view of his bruised wrists.

"We've just been visiting the local village and stopped at Pierre's parents' homestead."

"You visited with the Descoteaux family?" He was surprised.

"We watered the horses and I met Agnes and Claudia." Lola raised a teasing brow. "Agnes in particular seemed to have soft spot for you."

"Does that surprise you?" The smile that swept across his face stole her breath. _Carefree._ "Agnes has lived on this estate all her life. She is rather…" he cocked his head to the side, "feisty if I recall."

Lola smiled in return. "Quite."

The full force of his smile was staggering. "Join me for a late luncheon?"

"What? Here?"

"It's nothing fancy I concede, but why not embrace some spontaneity? Some of life's best moments come from the unplanned." His eyes sparkled devilishly and Lola hesitated. He took advantage of her indecision and addressed Pierre. "You may return home Pierre. My wife will stay with me."

Her eyes met his. _My wife._ A shiver ran up her spine. He reached for a towel and wiped his hands. Satisfied, he stepped close and reached for her. No choice, she allowed him to swing her to the floor. Immediately she felt warm, too close to him. Their eyes met and she saw the faint wrinkles in the corners, creasing even now as he looked at her.

"You wear your hair up far too much."

"Excuse me?" she sounded breathless and she hated herself for it.

His finger gently twirled a curl that had escaped from her coif. "You should wear it down more often. Something so beautiful should not be tamed."

Her mouth went dry; sure he spoke not of her hair, but of her person. She wanted to be angry at him for being so presumptuous about her nature. But she knew he was right. He always seemed to be right about the things she dared not even admit to herself.

"Your scars are healing," she said in an attempt to remove herself from his scrutiny. He touched his jaw casually, the bruises all but faded.

"Some more than others," he replied. The statement held a wealth of meaning. "Come," he drawled and led her to an even patch of grass in the shade. His discarded doublet became a blanket and within minutes, she was sitting on the shaded ground. The entire scene was so surreal, she could scarcely believe it. From somewhere bread, cheese, some grapes and wine arrived while he lazed beside her on nothing but the grass. Everything was peaceful, in the distance the faint sounds of birds in the tree overhead or men at work.

"This is..." she began.

"Offensive to your sensibilities?"

"No, just..."

"Not what a lady ought to be doing?"

"If you would allow me to finish…!" He inclined his head, still in a good mood she noticed. "It's different," she acknowledged. "But nice." She popped a grape into her mouth. _It was normal._ He smirked and she asked, "Do you enjoy tormenting me?"

"Tormenting, not at all." His eyes were alight with humour.

"But you do enjoy baiting me then?"

"I do, yes." He laughed, the sound light, spontaneous, catching even him by surprise.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me why?" She plucked idly at the grass beneath her hands.

"Because you hide yourself Lola, behind years of practiced etiquette and courtesy."

"I might venture the same about you. You cloak your own true feelings behind frivolity."

"I haven't been with many of my acquaintance Lola, but strangely I've always been honest with you." _What did he see in her?_ Perhaps that was why she understood so little of their attraction. He was dynamic and handsome enough to have any woman he wanted.

"But you do play games."

"Ah but I've played none with you. _Yet_." His eyes sparkled, his smile mysterious. "If I did, it would be with your consent. Take for example this setting... we are alone in this field, we are married, it would not be improper for me to lay you down upon my coat and have my wicked way with you." He flashed a dangerously flirtatious smile at her and Lola rolled her eyes, biting onto her lip and trying unsuccessfully to stop her face from flaming.

"I can think of a hundred things that would make it _very_ improper." Images from her dreams flashed before her eyes and she gritted her teeth. _Really!_

"Making love outside is quite the experience," he drawled, his gaze direct and filled with promise. He chuckled when she gave no further response. "You are a lady Lola and as such you guard your thoughts as tightly as your virtue. Like now, when your eyes flash or your cheeks go red so charmingly, it's when I catch a glimpse of you."

"And yet you don't know me."

"No, not really, not truly." His eyes were creased at the corners again, his words a challenge. "And," he continued with a smirk, "you don't know me. If you did, you would be able to discern the difference between truth and play."

"Rest assured, I'm beginning to learn." Her eyes narrowed at him, but her lips twitched.

"It is more than most of my acquaintances could say, even those who have known me for most of my life."

It was dangerous territory, but she was feeling reckless. "Why?"

He stopped, considered before saying, "I could ask the same of you."

"I asked first."

A small smile flitted across his lips as he looked off into the distance before saying slowly, "Perhaps it's the fear that if you truly allowed someone to know you, you could get hurt."

"Is that not the risk we take in life? To love, to trust," she amended, "is to risk everything."

"Perhaps for some the risk is too great."

"Or what you might gain could make all the difference in the world." Lola looked him in the eyes. "To not care, Stéphane, to find yourself unable to connect emotionally, is not living. Or loving."

They stared at each other for a moment and she felt the pull towards him, her belly dropping as those magnetic eyes peered into her soul.

"Perhaps I'm beginning to realise that," he said eventually. "The broken roads, those that twist in sometimes painful ways, they seem to be the ones that lead to the best destinations. Perhaps that is how we should view this marriage."

"As a broken road?" She made an attempt at humour and knew she failed miserably.

"As a journey that might lead us both to the best destination." His eyes were soft again and she was keenly aware of the fact that she was starting to get to know this man. It was equally thrilling and terrifying.

Overhead, the wind rustled the leaves and she shivered. "Have you heard from Francis?"

"On my duties?" He raised a brow at the change in subject. "Yes, in fact, I am due at court this afternoon."

She could see her son. Her heart leapt with joy at the prospect. "You go to court? Might I accompany you?"

He eyed her for a moment. "You miss him? Your son?"

"I do." His perception was unnerving. _Was there nothing she could hide from him?_

"Then it would be my honour to escort you." He stood, offering her a hand. Lola took it without hesitation, the realisation of her implicit trust discomforting. "Will you offer your King a report on my… activities these past few days?"

Lola looked away uncomfortably. She knew there would be questions from Francis. Even from Mary.

"I have nothing to tell."

"Do you now?" His eyes searched hers before looking away. She was almost sure he looked disappointed? _In her?_ The idea was upsetting. And frightening. She had been afraid of physical intimacy. _But was this not worse?_ To get to know him, to see him, his true nature as he lived on, and worked the land he loved. To understand what drove him and therefore be able to empathise with his plight. This, she realised, was far more dangerous.

"You could ride back with me. On my horse," he enunciated. "I know a charming path through the forest, a little tricky to guide another through. One horse works better." She recognised the challenge and her heartbeat picked up pace.

"Thank you, but I must decline."

"A pity. It could be quite... invigorating." That drawl. _Irresistibly sexy._ She almost hated him for it.

"I'm sure I shall bear the deprivation."

"Afraid Lola?"

"I would be a fool not to be," she admitted, looking down at their hands that were still linked.

He seemed affected by her truth. "I would never lead you to do anything untoward, you have my word."

"Says the wolf," she said, but her lips turned into a smile. "You could assist me onto my horse though." The recklessness was back as she raised a brow in her own challenge.

"Bold are we?" He looked ridiculously pleased and she rolled her eyes again. "My Lady..."

He lifted her effortlessly and she settled in the saddle, guiding her foot into the stirrup. His hand slipped under her dress and cupped her calf gently, running his hand along the curve of the shapely limb. Lola gasped, the imprint of his fingers burning her skin through the barrier of her stockings.

"As I said, _wolf_ ," she whispered.

He winked at her before retrieving his own steed, mounting the horse effortlessly. "At least not in sheep's clothing. I should warn you though, we will stay at court a few days and my chambers has only one bed."

Lola was disarmed by his words. "Oh... well, you could..."

"I'm not that much of a gentleman. So let me be clear. If you return to court with me, you will sleep in my bed. The alternative is that you sleep elsewhere, thereby sparking rumours at court about the state of our yet... fledgling marriage."

"You're insufferable."

"And you are my wife. So decide." He was smirking and she refused to cower.

"Fine. But sleeping in the same bed is just that. Sleeping." Although she doubted she would get any sleep with him so close. "I won't let you touch me."

"Like I said," he drawled, "I will take no liberties you do not offer."

"Well, we have an agreement then because none will be on offer."

He only inclined his head. "As you wish."

Lola knew she was in trouble. _Really big trouble._ But she had agreed and there was nothing to be done about it. Together, they urged their horses into a gallop and raced towards home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much for reading. I don't think there is nearly enough love for these two. AND THEY ARE SO HOT TOGETHER RIGHT?! It's very exciting for me to encounter Lola x Narcisse fans, so if you're on tumblr, FIND ME - sweetrupturedlight. I'm always available for squeeing.
> 
> Some admin stuff, because I've had some questions:  
> 1\. Updates will be weekly. I update on a Sunday night or a Monday morning. I'm in South Africa, so it's SAST. I'm ridiculously busy at the moment. So once a week is the best I can do to guarantee that there will be an update that people can expect. I would love to post more frequently, but time does not allow at this point.
> 
> 2\. The idea with this fic is not to rewrite Narcisse's character. It is however, an attempt to intimate that he has done horrible things - but that he might have had motivations for them. These motivations don't serve as a justification, but hopefully through his realisation that his actions have had irreparable consequences, he will try to make better choices - without losing the essence of who he is.
> 
> 3\. In addition, the people who live and work on his land are his tenants. They aren't privy to his wheeling's and dealings. But even if they were, they are loyal because of his respect and treatment of them. I hope to deal with some of Narcisse's less than desirable decision making and the effect that has on his relationship with Lola. She can't love a part of the man; she has to love all of him – the good with the bad.
> 
> 4\. There will be sex in this fic. And yes, it's coming :)
> 
> Enjoy x

Stéphane left Lola in the large, cold throne room just as Kenna and Greer entered. He bowed, took her hand and softly kissed the inside of her wrist. She bit her lip, thrilled by the gesture. Her eyes lingered on his lithe form as he departed, her attention eventually diverted by her friends.

"All the details, please," Kenna begged. Lola hugged her and Greer in return but shook her head.

"First I will see my son. I will come and find you."

The only hurrying she did was towards her son.  _Had he grown in the last two weeks?_  How much she'd missed the feel his tiny body pressed to her own, his sweet smell. He fussed a little when she first reached for him and her heart broke.  _Did he not recognise her after so short a time?_  But soon enough he burrowed into her arms. Lola kissed his soft cheek, staring down at him for the longest time after she'd placed him back in his crib.

She wanted him with her. And yet she knew it was impossible.  _How could Francis and Mary support any decision that separated a child from his mother?_  But this was the way it had always been done. She was disposable, a barrage of wet nurses and governesses waiting in the wings to rear and educate her son.  _But what of love? Who would love him the way she did?_ Before her resentment ruined her mood, Lola stroked his cheek one last time before leaving to find her friends. Kenna and Greer were having afternoon tea in one of the castles sumptuous galleries.

"Where is Mary?" she asked, sinking into a cushioned sofa.

"On official business. With Catherine no less," Greer said, pouring Lola a cup of tea. "Poor Mary."

"Oh, never mind that now. Tell us everything!" Kenna said.

"I was a little worried," Greer said. "Are you alright, Lola? I considered writing you, but thought better of it."

"I'm fine," Lola said, holding up her one hand and balancing her tea up with the other to stem the flow of questioning.

"You are?" Kenna wiggled her eyebrows.

Lola couldn't help but laugh. "Not in that way... exactly."

"What do you mean?" Greer frowned.

"I don't suppose me saying that I don't really want to discuss this will work?"

"Not a chance."

"Kenna!" Greer admonished but then pulled an apologetic face. "Sorry, but I'm with Kenna. Not a chance."

Lola knew she couldn't put them off. Putting down the tea cup, she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

"There's really nothing to tell. We haven't... he hasn't..." Lola shrugged, embarrassed.

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE SEX?" Kenna cried in disbelief. The question reverberated around the empty gallery.

"No!" Lola snapped embarrassed and defensive. "We haven't."

"Why ever not?"

"Has he been cruel? Hurt you in some way?" Greer pressed, ignoring Kenna.

"No, like I said, I'm well. He just hasn't... he hasn't touched me." Lola tried to look unaffected and knew she failed miserably.

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I." Greer said, all astonishment.

"You're disappointed?" Kenna laughed. "It's that bloody journal! You're curious aren't you?"

"Kenna, shhh."

"It's the truth! Look at her!"

Lola rolled her eyes, her face ablaze.

"A man like Narcisse... I can't believe he's shown such extraordinary restraint," Kenna said. She looked utterly perplexed.

"Some men don't want to be forced. He was pushed into this marriage. Perhaps he feels like consummating it should be on his terms," Greer offered with a shrug and Lola pondered her words.

"We kissed." At Kenna's wide eyed look she clarified, "Once! Before we were married. A while back. Anyway, I slapped him and warned him not to take liberties I did not offer."

Kenna threw her hands into the air. "There it is - your problem."

"What?" Greer and Lola asked simultaneously.

"He's waiting for you to make the first move." At their sceptical glances, Kenna continued. "Think about it. He's not the type of man to be forced – and he has been – and Lola has laid down the gauntlet. Until she shows him she's ready..."

"That's absurd." Lola shook her head.

"You did say he liked to play games?" Greer reminded.

Lola's head was spinning and she really didn't want to discuss this any further. Greer seemed to realise her uneasiness and changed the subject.

"What has life on the estate been like?" she asked enthusiastically. "Lord Castleroy once told me it's beautiful."

Lola smiled at her, grateful. "It is. It's vast; I see why Stéphane is so attached to the land."

"Stéphane?" Kenna winked and Lola ignored her.

"I've met some of the tenants too," Lola said. "They seem to love working on the estate. They have nothing but praise for Narcisse. They're quite loyal."

"Perhaps they are being coerced into saying the right thing."

"I have considered it," Lola was ashamed to admit. "But the sentiment  _seems_  genuine. By all accounts, and despite what we know he is capable of – what his tenants might also know about him - Narcisse is a really good Lord to his people. It has ensured their loyalty."

"Where there's smoke, there's fire. His reputation didn't come from nowhere."

Lola felt irritation mount inside of her and pushed it down. She had the foolish need to defend him and his reputation.

"All men in power are envied by others. Perhaps there are more to the rumours."

"You're not defending him are you?" Kenna asked, shocked.

Lola's stare was hard. "I'm merely stating that there is more to someone than what others would spread about them."

"It wasn't a rumour that he was blackmailing the king."

"I know Kenna!" Lola snapped, now fully irritated. "One minute you are encouraging me to jump into his bed and the next you're chastising me for believing in his goodness."

" _Goodness?!_ " Kenna scowled.  _Was that what this was? Was she starting to believe in his goodness?_

Greer aimed a strong look in Kenna's direction and Lola turned away. Of course her friends hated him too. Their interest and enthusiasm was a pretence meant to set her at ease. Miserable, Lola realised that despite the lack of physical intimacy, she was enjoying getting to know Narcisse. And now the harsh reality of just who he was invaded that shifting perspective.

A servant arrived with a note for Kenna. "I'm sorry; Bash has asked me to meet him in the garden. Talk later?"

"Hey," Greer said once Kenna had left. "Truly, is everything alright?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "No."

"Oh Lola." Greer shifted to sit beside her. "You're falling in love with him aren't you?"

Lola didn't deny it. "Understanding him better, I can appreciate that not everything that's happened is as black and white as I had initially assumed. I've spent the last two weeks getting to know him - him, the person - not the perceived monster. I've seen him work his land and heard of his tenants' respect. He's been kind and attentive to me. And now I come here... perhaps deluding myself into-"

"believing in his goodness?" Greer finished, her eyes sad.

"You think me a fool?"

"No, I think you've been placed in a very difficult position."

 _Placed in that position by her friends, her sovereigns, Mary and Francis_. Lola wiped her tears with the back of her hand and sniffed. "I'm sorry. It's just a bit overwhelming. I should check on Jean-Philippe. I want to spend as much time with him as possible."

She rose and Greer stalled her with a hand. "If you'd like to talk, I'm here."

Lola nodded and left, done with talking for the time being. When she walked into the nursery however, she was surprised to see Mary there, holding the baby. The queen turned, surprised to see her.

"Lola, I didn't know you were at court."

"Narcisse had business with Francis. I chose to accompany him so that I might spend some time with my son."

Mary looked embarrassed to be caught with the baby and approached Lola, gently handing her the child.

"He grows wonderfully. He's strong and healthy."

Lola smiled down at him. "Yes, he is."

"Francis spends time with him. He does not lack for anything."

"Except the love and care of his mother."

Mary frowned. "You know he cannot accompany you to your home. Francis would forbid it. Frankly, so do I."

Lola felt her anger rise and placed the sleeping child back into his crib.

"You and Francis made this decision for me. I was happy here, happy to be near my son. Now I've been forced to separate from him when he is still so young. He needs me."

"There are many here who care for him. Francis. Me-"

"YOU ARE NOT HIS MOTHER!" Lola exploded, mortified once the words had flung from her lips.

Mary's countenance changed, her stance hurt and defensive. "I would never presume to usurp your role in his life."

"Mary, I'm sorry, I know tha-"

"And our reasons for having you marry Narcisse are valid and true. You know that. I would not have suggested it if I did not think that you might be unable to be happy."

"HAPPY? How did you imagine I would be?" Mary looked taken aback by her vehemence. "My friends, my King and Queen, everyone at court, everyone I love, loathe my husband. We cannot spend time in your company because of the unbearable tension. I've been forced to move from my son and live with Lord Narcisse because  _you_  see it as my duty to France. And you expected that I would just be happy?  _Tell me how Mary?_ We, all of us, we're just chess pieces that you move around on a board at your leisure."

"That is not fair," Mary interjected but Lola was past caring. The words spilt forth from her unhindered.

"I know you say you don't resent me, but perhaps you do. Deep down, because I've given Francis the one thing you desperately wish  _you_  could. And I am sorry for it. I truly am. I have no love for your husband and if I could, I would go back and change what happened that drunken night. But then I wouldn't have my son and so I cannot wish that the past is changed. I am sorry Mary. But this is the last apology you will get from me."

"I am your Queen-"

"You were my friend long before you had to remind me of that." Lola turned to leave, heartbroken at the words they were forced to utter.

"Do not walk away from me! We have not completed this conversation."

"I have said all I can. If you'll excuse me."

Outside the room, Lola breathed deeply, her hands shaking. She needed sanctuary from this place that no longer felt like home. Moving down the corridors, she made her way to her husband's chambers. He would still be with Francis and she might be afforded some time to compose herself.

As she predicted, the rooms were empty. Her trunks had been brought in and unpacked, all evidence of their arrival cleared away. The bedroom was large, masculine in accent and taste. A small fire had been lit in the large fireplace and she gravitated towards its comforting heat. On the opposite end of the room was a large four-poster bed. She was somewhat relieved to see its size – it meant she could easily stick to her side of the bed without touching him. She bit her lip nervously, focusing instead on the argument she'd just had with Mary. She couldn't be sorry about the sentiments she'd shared. They seemed to be burning a hole inside of her. And had she not shared them, she might still be harbouring the resentment which now seemed to have eased. She breathed out deeply.

There was a sharp knock and Lola jumped at the force. Turning, she saw Kenna fly through the door.

"Kenna?"

"Lord Narcisse!" she said, breathless. "You must come!"

Lola frowned. "Kenna what-"

"He's been wounded!"

"What?" Already she was in motion.  _Wounded?_

"I'm not sure what happened. I was with Bash and only heard the end of the-"

The intensity of the fear that raced through her was completely unexpected. She had no time to examine it though, racing towards Francis's private chambers. Her heart in her throat, Lola ran through the castle corridors as fast as her legs could carry her. The taffeta of her voluminous skirts hampered her slightly and so she raised them, giving little thought to decorum. She felt her hair loosen from its bun. There was a guard posted outside the door and as she approached she cried, "Let me in. I am Lady Narcisse."

The guard straightened. "I was told that no one was allowed to enter my Lady."

"He is my husband! I demand you let me in!"

The door flung open from the inside and Bash appeared. "It's alright," he said to the guard.

Inside, she searched the room, her eyes falling on the prostrate body on a royal blue divan. Her heart in her throat, Lola fell to her knees beside him.

"What happened?" she asked to no one in particular.  _Oh god, oh god._  Her eyes tried to take in everything at once, seeing nothing. Francis paced back and forth, looking agitated.

"We were ambushed on the road. He-"

"Ambushed? I thought you had business here?" His face was pale and his hair matted with sweat. "Where is the Doctor?!" she cried urgently. From his side, a dark red stain indicated a wound. She moved to inspect it and Bash stopped her.

"We've padded the wound. Fussing unnecessarily could cause infection."

"I requested he join me in negotiations with some Nobles. Bandits came out of nowhere," Francis said.

"Stéphane?" she whispered, relieved to see his chest move. He opened his eyes, his breathing shallow. His hand stretched out and wrapped around a long curl that had slipped loose. She grasped his fingers, squeezing lightly but he lost consciousness again.

"Was anyone else hurt?" she asked.  _He looked so vulnerable._

"No," Bash said.

Lola's head snapped up. "He was the only one wounded? How?"

Bash and Francis shared a look and she felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"The bandits wanted to kill a King, not a noble," Francis said, admitting eventually, "Narcisse leapt in front of a blade meant for me."

Lola's breath caught in her throat, her eyes swinging to Bash. "He saved Francis's life."

"I don't understand..."  _Had he risked his life for Francis? A king he had no love for? Why would he do that?_ Her hand tightened on his.

The door opened and a Doctor rushed in.

"Lola, give the Doctor some space to work," Bash said, reaching for her.

"No, I...I want-"

"Lola," Francis said curtly. "You will do him no favours by hindering the Doctors work. I will have a servant call you as soon as there is word on his condition."

Bash helped her to her feet and she was moved a few steps back. Nothing made sense. Just this morning they had parted ways and he had been alive, vital. Yet now, hours later he lay as cold as a corpse.

"Will he be alright?" she asked the Doctor whose hands moved over his patient. He'd removed the makeshift bandage from his side and all Lola saw was blood.

"Oh my God." Her hands went to her mouth and her throat constricted. She wanted to go to him.

"Please," Francis signalled Bash. "Allow the Doctor to work."

Somewhere between an unwanted marriage and layers of deceit she realised that she wanted him –  _unconditionally_ \- despite the insurmountable odds between them.

An hour later he'd been moved into his chambers, his body sponged and was now resting comfortably in his bed.

"The wound was not too deep. The blade missed his vital organs, but despite the superficiality of the cut, he's lost a fair amount of blood," the Doctor said. "He will be fine Lady Narcisse. All he needs rest."

Her eyes were fixed on her husband as he lay unmoving. He'd briefly regained consciousness again but still her anxiety levels were unbearable. Greer and Kenna had brought her dinner, but she had no appetite for food. Somewhere near midnight, exhausted, she rounded to the other side of the large bed and climbed in, lying down beside him, her cool hand pressed to his heart. The thump was steady and stronger than she remembered.

Like this, he looked younger. She'd never seen him completely and utterly relaxed, without defences. But she realised she preferred him with a sparkle in his eyes and a wicked grin at the ready.

"Stéphane," she whispered. He didn't move. "I have seen enough death to no longer be afraid of it. But I am afraid of being alone," she admitted into the silence. "I don't want to be alone."

She placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, focusing on the rhythmic beat of his heart.

The sound of life outside roused her and she immediately lifted her head from his shoulder, raising the covers quickly to scan his wound. She slumped, relief flooding through her when no blood had seeped through his bandages. Beneath her hand, his heart still beat strongly. Curling her fingers into his shirt, her eyes travelled upwards. Deep blue eyes were looking at her, surprisingly alert.

"You're awake!" For a moment she forgot that things between them were precarious - in that space between black and white. Her relief was palpable.

"If I'd known a grievous bodily injury was the key to getting you in my bed - and in my arms - I might have done this a long time ago." His voice was hoarse and low from the lack of use, but his drawl brought her great joy.

She scowled at him. "You make light of something quite serious. You could have been killed."

"Perhaps this consequence is more like a reward than a punishment." His eyes were soft and she realised she liked the way he was looking at her.

"How are you feeling?"

He shifted and grimaced. "Like I've had an encounter with a very sharp object."

"You're lucky to be alive." The fear inside of her reared its head again.

"Would you have missed me?"

"Yes." His eyes burned at her confession and she felt the ever present pull between them. Lola moved to get up but his hand stopped her. He was serious, the usual playfulness gone. Her heart leapt into her throat.

"The detail is vague yet I recall your presence. Thank you. For taking care of me. I do not remember a time when anyone but a servant was inclined to do so."

Inside her, something broke. He wasn't a monster. And yet it seemed like he'd always been treated thus by those closest to him. She raised a hand to his face and leaned in close to place a whisper of a kiss to his cheek. He reached for the hand and brought it to his lips.

"You're welcome," she whispered as she placed her forehead to his. But suddenly he growled low in his throat, his hands threading into her already dishevelled hair. She gasped, sprawled slightly across his chest as her hair unravelled beneath his hands.

"Your wound!" she cautioned but his lips brushed close to hers, the rasp of his beard a sensuous torment. He gave her time to object, but this time, Lola knew what she wanted. She would surrender.

Breathless, she pressed her lips to his. It was the only invitation he needed. Taking control, he took a deep breath and rolled her beneath him. He hissed – she assumed in pain – and she started to protest.  _He shouldn't be moving around like this!_  But the protest died before passing her lips when he mouth claimed her own. Her breathing seized as his weight bore down upon her, pressing her into the mattress. Lola surrendered in totality, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he proceeded to steal whatever breath she had left with a searing kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: Wonderful readers! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I was surprised by the almost unanimous sentiment that most of you enjoyed Lola's argument with Mary. As much as I love Mary, she can be rather heavy handed with her friends. 
> 
> Things are heating up between these two. Enjoy! x

Her breath stuttered and her heart beat an erratic tattoo against her ribs. Lola felt the blood rush to her head, leaving her feeling lightheaded and breathless. But she cared little about the function of breathing at that very moment. His lips were masterful as they skimmed across her own, his tongue skilled and deliciously wicked as it stroked against hers. _Dear God._ She'd never been kissed thus - engaging, all consuming, robbing her of every sense except touch and taste.

The kiss stretched on forever and she lost all perception of time and space. Her hands were now restless as her palms brushed across his stubbled face, exploring the underside of his rugged jawline and the soft skin behind the shell of his ear. His lips moved from hers, running along her cheek, his teeth sinking into her earlobe as he bit down. She gasped at the sting and heard his sexy chuckle at her reaction. _Beast._ But then his tongue laved where his teeth had been and heat pooled instantly like liquid fire in her belly.

She felt her faculties slip as his hands skimmed down the sides of her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Shameless, Lola angled her body closer, frustrated as her nightgown hampered his ability to fully settle between her thighs. His lips blazed a trail down her neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive flesh where her nape and shoulder met. Lola's fingers went to his hair, trapping his lips against her. She opened her eyes, but the world swam before her in myriad of kaleidoscopic colour - unfocused, blind - and she shut them again. Within minutes, he'd reduced her to nothing but a flaming ball of delicious sensation.

She felt his hand on her thigh and realised her hem had been raised. _How had that happened?_ She didn't care. As his fingers slid up her soft skin, she parted her thighs and mewed like a kitten when he pressed against her intimately. _Oh._ She sighed, dragging his head back towards her and kissing him with all the passion she had inside of her.

"Lola." Her name was a ragged whisper as he groaned. Absurdly pleased, her hands pressed into the hard, muscled planes of his chest and back. By instinct, her knees braced against his sides, pressing herself closer.

" _Fuck!_ " His sudden curse interrupted the preceding sounds of sighs, moans and moist kisses. He was breathing harshly as he stopped moving and Lola blushed, shrinking back, her legs falling from his sides.

"Are you alright?" Her hands went to his affected wound but did not touch. He was breathing deeply, his head now resting in the crook of her neck. His warm breath and beard tickled and she had the absurd urge to laugh.

"As pleasurable as this is, it seems my body has other ideas." He finally lifted his head, tracing his fingers across her lips. She swallowed hard, powerless to stop her eyes from meeting his. "If I were not forced to be prostrate at this very moment, you would be without half of your clothing by now." He leaned on his forearms and she felt enveloped by him.

The reckless feeling was back. "Only half?" Her brow quirked, the words a hurried whisper. "Have your talents been exaggerated?"

The corners of his lips turned up as his eyes dropped to her lips. "Well now, are you flirting with your Lord husband Lady Narcisse?" His voice had dropped a few octaves and she could feel the vibrations all the way in the recesses of her belly.

"Perhaps I am." A contented happiness settled inside of her. Despite everything else that was going wrong, _this between them_ , the one thing she'd anticipated would be the hardest, was turning out to be the easiest adjustment of all.

He chucked again, his lips pressing to her temples."Bold are we?"

"Your influence no doubt."

He laughed loudly, lines radiating in circles around his talented mouth. She couldn't stop her answering smile.

"I think," she said, "we should suspend... that is... this doesn't seem the best of ideas in current circumstances..."

"Indeed. A condition I regret."

It was hard to think with him still lying atop her. Lola fiddled with the ties of his shirt, giving her hands something to do, to _focus_ on, and asked, "Why did you do it?" He knew what she meant.

"Because it was the right thing to do. Francis might not be the best king - yet," he qualified at her frown, "but he is the only one we have. I would not see anarchy swell like wildfire at the untimely demise of its head of state. Francis and I might not be on the best of terms. But I do not wish to see him dead."

"You've said before that you felt guilt over the protestant uprising."

"Yes," he admitted slowly, remaining silent a moment longer before saying, "you once told me to help him be a better king. I've seen what the consequences were of doing things my way. I think I am ready to try something different."

Her heart warmed and she touched his chest as he hovered above her. "Thank you. Francis might not say it, but..." Her words trailed off.

"I want to trust you," he admitted.

Her heart stuttered and she blinked at the tears that formed in her eyes. She felt the incredible pull towards him and looked away, but with a finger under her chin he gently guided her gaze back.

"Lola?"

They both knew she was an unwilling agent of the King. His gaze hardened, disappointment clouding his features as he pulled away from her. Slowly, she inched out from under him and he rolled over onto his back.

"Are you alright?"

"Which part of me would you be referring to?" He lay staring up at the ceiling.

It was a trap and she couldn't help but fall right into it. Her eyes travelled down his body and she turned beat red at the clear evidence of his straining erection.

"Not that part," she mumbled as she all but fell off the side of the bed in her haste to put some distance between them. "I should check on Jean-Philippe. And you need rest." He looked to make a retort but there was a knock at the door before a servant entered.

"You're toilette is being prepared and the Doctor is here my Lady."

"Please, send him in."

Without a backward glance, she escaped to the antechamber inside their bedroom. Out of sight, she slumped against the wall, her hands lifting her heavy hair from her shoulders. She must look a sight. Her fingers went to her lips. They felt swollen and when she pressed them together, they were tender too.

She realised she wanted to place faith in her husband, to give him the opportunity to prove his loyalty. _But would she survive being wrong about him?_ She sighed, tears eminent but she gathered herself. She should talk to Francis, understand exactly what happened.

Céline arrived with her robe as buckets of warm water were carried in for her bath. She was in very great danger, she realised, of wanting her husband as much as he wanted her.

* * *

Lola found Bash and Francis in the throne room, deep in discussion.

"Francis, if I might have word. It's about what happened yesterday."

"What about it?" Francis was frowning. "Has Narcisse confessed his reasons for saving my life?"

It was her turn to frown. "Reasons? I don't understand."

"Surely he must have planned the attack? Made it so that he ends up being the hero. To what end one wonders," said Bash.

Lola stared at them in open mouthed wonder. "He saved your life," she said slowly, enunciating every word. "And you think that he planned it all? He could have been killed."

"And yet he escaped with nothing but a flesh wound. Rather convenient wouldn't you say?"

"So if he'd been mortally wounded you might have believed him?"

"Perhaps," Francis said flippantly and Lola felt her anger rise.

"He is my husband! The one _you_ gave me. You would see me a widow?"

"I didn't think it necessary to spell out the fact that this will likely be a temporary arrangement. Narcisse is valuable for as long as I deem it so."

"Do you think so little of _me_? _I_ am not a pawn Francis! This is my life!" she cried, gathering herself. Bash stood off to the side but said nothing. "So you still plan of stripping him of his lands and position?"

Francis seemed to lose patience and snapped. "The only reason I haven't taken his lands is because if you!"

"Do not pretend you do this for anyone other than yourself." Frustrated, she said, "My dowry belongs to the estate!"

"So he hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?" she snapped.

"Your dowry is yours. He refused it. It was a condition of your marriage. So despite what Narcisse's fate might be, you are an independently wealthy woman. Quite a feat."

Lola tried to process the information but her mind had stalled. _He had ensured that her dowry was separate from the estate?_ He would have known that his possessions could be taken from him. _Was that his way of ensuring that she was taken care of, despite his fate?_ The fact that he had ensured this _before_ they were married was a fact that did not escape her.

Lola shook her head, clearing it. "Francis, he saved your life!"

"As I said, no doubt for some nefarious purpose of his own."

"When did you become so callous... so cold?" she cried, disappointed in the man who now stood in front of her. He was jaded.

"If you'll excuse me..."

"He's done bad things Francis. But you killed your father!" Lola called after him and he halted. His face went white and his eyes widened.

"Lola," Bash cautioned but she would not be silenced.

"I'd say that between blackmail and murder, Narcisse isn't the one with royal blood on his hands."

"Do not for one minute believe that he has not killed for his own purposes or gain," the King warned.

Lola shook her head, no fool. "Oh, I know he has. But at least he is aware of who he is and the man he's now trying to be. Can you say the same thing?" Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at the King who she had once have called a close friend. She knew so little of the man who now stood before her. "I don't know who you are anymore Francis."

Hurrying from the room, she saw Mary standing off to the side.

* * *

Lola spent the rest of the day avoiding most everyone. She felt anger boiling inside of her and feared she would burst because of it. She spent all the time she could with her son, had a late lunch with Greer, ensured Narcisse had been made comfortable and checked in with the Doctor about his wound. He was going to be fine. Her relief did nothing to soothe her growing disquiet. She realised too that babies could pick up on all manner of emotional states. She gave up on trying to soothe her son when she realised her state made it harder for him to relax. With great guilt, she handed him over to his wet nurse and as the sun dipped below the horizon, she found herself alone in the palace gardens.

She was incensed and had no idea what to do with her feelings. A part of her understood Francis's mistrust. But the other side of her hated the injustice. She felt irate on behalf of her husband. _When had that happened?_ Outside, she breathed deeply in an attempt to calm the tempest within her.

"I heard I missed quite the show this morning."

She whirled around, surprised to see him. He walked out from the shadows into the night with an almost indiscernible limp.

"It's nothing," Lola said, looking away.

"It's not every day I have my wife defend me to the King."

"Where did you hear that?" She panicked. She had mentioned the murder of Henry.

He raised his hand, soothing her. "It's alright. The walls inside the castle tend to have... strategic ears." He paused. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you defend me?"

She felt something snap inside of her and for the hundredth time in as many weeks, she found herself carelessly speaking her mind, damning the consequences to hell.

"I'm angry," she cried, ready for a fight.

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know why!"

"Enlighten me." His drawl was deceptively light and careless.

"I'm angry at being forced to marry a man who will never be welcomed by my friends. A man who gets me to behave in ways I know I shouldn't! A man who makes me feel-" she swallowed hard. "I resent being a pawn. I resent being separated from my son."

"You resent me." He stated it as a fact.

"No. I do not!" she cried, exasperated, exhausted, frustrated tears in her eyes. "Do you not see? Perhaps it would be easier if I did."

"Lola."

"I defended you because I want to believe that you are honest and that you are genuine in your sentiment to do the right thing. I want to believe that what you tell me is sincere, despite your past and the fact that I have given you very little reason to trust me. I want to believe you because I feel like you've allowed me a concession in getting to know you. And I want to believe that what I saw was the truth and not some ruse. Because Stéphane," the fight left her and she was on the precipice of tears. "You are my husband and I don't want to play games."

"Finally, honesty between us." He looked away briefly and swallowed hard. She frowned as he seemed to struggle with something. "After we'd married," he started slowly, meeting her eyes with force. "I was furious. I wanted no part of this farcical engineered by a King I knew hated me. But an idea struck me soon after... I set out to seduce you." Her eyes widened and he continued. "I knew you didn't want this marriage, but I thought perhaps that would be a way I could hold sway over you, punish you for your betrayal."

Lola turned away and wiped at the tears that rolled from her eyes. When she turned back, her face was damp, but her eyes were dry. "Why are you telling me this now?" She felt cold.

"I've realised it is the one plan I am incapable of executing." His eyes were soft and she recognised the sincerity in them. She realised she _did_ know enough about him now to recognise the trait.

"Stéphane-"

"I once offered you the opportunity to journey towards trust. I want to extend that invitation again. In order to do that, I too must come clean."

"You risk a lot in revealing your plan."

"My wife once told me that to risk might yield greater gain."

She quirked a brow at the handkerchief he extended towards her, but took it. "She sounds like a wise woman. You should listen to her more often."

"So I'm learning."

Lola took a deep breath, leaping off the cliff. "You know that I've been asked to watch you... to report on any activities that might place the crown in jeopardy. I do not want to be your keeper and certainly no spy. But I cannot be complacent if you did attempt to do things that were unpatriotic. I love this country and despite the current difficulties between Mary, Francis and I, they are my friends."

He nodded. "Where does that leave us?"

"If you are honest with me, then I vow to always return that favour."

He nodded. "I can live with those terms." He moved closer and she felt her worldview narrow to focus only on him. He took her hand and she let him, energy humming between them. "I want you to give me sons. And daughters," he conceded with a crooked smile. "I want you to be the mother of my children and my partner. It is a modern notion, I confess, to have a wife as an equal. Perhaps I've learnt something from our regents."

Lola's mouth had gone dry as dust and she could feel her heart beat at a frantic pace in her throat, the answering roar in her ears. "You know I've had other wives, but you are the first I see myself building a life with. We were both forced into this marriage under... duplicitous circumstances. But how we progress from this moment onwards is of our choosing. I once offered the opportunity to journey towards trust. I would like to renew that offer - although this time, it is genuinely with no ulterior motive."

 _Dared she hope?_ She wanted to badly place her heart in the hands of a man she knew so little and yet wanted to trust with every fiber of her being. _To risk everything is to truly live._ Perhaps she should take the advice she doled out with such alacrity.

Covering his hand with her own, she met his gaze. _God help her_. "Alright."

His smile was slow and seductive and she gulped air into her lungs under the force of it. _What had she just agreed to?_ Excitement exploded inside of her. Excitement and a generous helping of nerves. _Could she even handle a man like him?_

Narcisse took a step towards her, his arm going around her waist. "Step back." Lola frowned, but acquiesced.

"Again. Again." He walked her backwards until they were in a darkened alcove of the gardens, completely hidden from view. "Do you trust me?"

 _Did she?_ She wanted to. "Yes," she breathed, more sure than not. And when his lips claimed hers and this time, she eagerly met him halfway. The heat that exploded between them was instant. She didn't hesitate, wrapping her arms around his neck pressing her body into his. His hands were moving, leaving a trail of fire across the surface of her skin. Her mind clouded and all she could hear was the sound of their breathing, the ragged breaths urging her desire for him onwards.

His lips, those incredibly skilled appendages, moved from hers, his teeth grazing the dent in her chin. She sighed, her hands kneading his shoulders, already frustrated by the fabric now shielding her from the hard plans of his body.

She felt cool air caress the backs of her thighs, his warm palms following soon thereafter. His lips were back on hers and she felt heady under the sensuous torment. He inserted a leg in between hers and pinned her to the wall. Lola thought she might spontaneously combust as his pelvis pushed into hers. And they were nowhere close to being naked yet. _She might not survive this._

Her breathing was harsh, erratic, completely out of control as his lips travelled south, nipping behind her ears, her neck before nuzzling into her hair.

"I want this down. I _need_ it down."

Incapable of speech, their eyes met as she raised her hands, removing the pins that held the heavy mass in place. The dark curls tumbled down her right shoulder and his eyes glinted with triumph. Narcisse's hands fisted into her hair, tugging gently so her lips were served up to his as he restarted his sensual assault. Lola felt drugged, completely, _willingly_ at his mercy.

His tongue laved at the tops of her breasts, massaging the engorged mounds through the stiff bodice of her corset. She bit her lip, her head thrown back against the wall as she eagerly pushed herself into his hands. Again cool air brushed against her legs and her eyes opened, meeting his.

"Still trust me?"

"Yes," she mouthed, clearing her throat and trying again. "Yes." This time she managed the affirmation with sound.

Again he gifted her with that wicked grin and she felt heat pool between her thighs. His eyes never left hers as he slowly lowered himself to his knees, his fingers skimming over her stockings, over the ribboned garters and massaged the backs of her thighs. Lola was no modest maiden, but _was he going to...?_ Nerves, excitement, curiosity and bone melting desire waged war inside of her.

Gently, he coaxed one stockinged leg over his shoulder, his head disappearing beneath her petticoat and skirts. Lola reached out to brace herself against the wall, her legs about ready to buckle when his warm breath brushed the back of her knee. He feathered kisses all the way up her legs, across her thighs until he reached the apex at the top. Mindless, breathless with wanton anticipation, she bit down on her lip - _hard_ \- just as his tongue ran across the seam of her sex. DEAR GOD. The leg that held her body weight did buckle then, but he seemed to anticipate it, his hand cupping the back of the joint, holding her steady.

Her breathing was louder now as she tried to unsuccessfully stifle the litany of moans that burst from her. Her head thrashed from side to side as she carelessly pushed her pelvis against his lips, past embarrassment, past shame. The pleasure was shocking; building, building as his tongue circled the pulsing nub he'd exposed, laving it with skilled consideration. Lola felt her release build, holding her breath as her hips began to twitch involuntarily. But then he stopped and instead of using his lips and tongue on her, he gently blew onto her clitoris. She cried out and just like that, Lola convulsed, spiralling into the most intense orgasm she'd ever had. Waves and waves of pleasure radiated from her heart, skimming across her skin as he resumed his massage of her core, demanding all of her.

Limp, her leg slipped from his shoulder and he rose, his arms drawing her close. Drowsy with wonder, her head slipped beneath his chin, her hands fisting into the fabric at his shoulders to help keep herself upright.

"I don't think I read about _that_ in the journal."

His chuckle vibrated under her cheek. "The journal is only the beginning. Come," he cajoled. "Let's get you to bed."

 _Dear God._ He must have felt her stiffen because the chuckle was back as he pressed his lips to her temple, whispering wickedly in her ear. "I never thought I'd say this, but we'll sleep."

"Sleep?" she squeaked, confused.

"The first time we come together Lola, it will not be under the roof of the King of France." He kissed her, slow and deep and she could taste her essence on his lips.

Drawing back, she said, "If memory serves, I don't recall you following such protocols."

"I did not before. This... this is different." Her insides quaked at his admission.

Her eyes met his as she fingered his hair roughened chin with her thumb and forefinger. "Then let's go home."

His brow quirked in surprise, but he couldn't hide his pleasure at her suggestion.

 _Home_. Yes. His estate, with him, that was where it was now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: This chapter is more than 1000 words longer than any of the others that preceded it. The honeymoon continues and some court intrigue follows. Thank you for reading. x

The next morning they began the process of packing. They'd initially meant to stay a week, and yet they'd not made it beyond the third day.

The night prior, Stéphane had remained true to his word, and other than drawing her close and burying his face in her hair, they'd slept. It was nice, she acknowledged to herself, to lie inside the arms of a warm, strong man again. It was thrilling to wake up with a possessive arm clasped around her waist. In the summer months it might be a slightly different experience, but with the winter chill permeating the large, stone room, Lola had unashamedly burrowed closer.

Sexual anticipation was also a new concept to her. She'd never experienced it before – at least, not this intensely. The brush of his hand, a long, lingering stare, his lips pressed quickly to the nape of her neck in passing or her fingers caressed idly as he spoke. These were all devised to torment her, she was sure. And it was working. _Beast._

By midmorning, she went back to the nursery to say farewell to her son. She didn't think it would ever be easy to leave him. Every time felt like the first, the heartbreak and sorrow so palpable, she swore she could taste it. Her throat constricted as she pressed kisses to his soft skin repeatedly, reminding him that she loved him and would see him soon.

Leaving Jean-Philippe in the care of his wet nurse, she went to find Mary. She didn't regret their tenuous words, but she did not want to leave things so ugly between them. Lola walked through the hallowed halls of the castle, supremely aware of how in such a short space of time, it no longer felt like home. This, the place she'd lived for most of her time in France. At the end of the corridor she saw the Queen and was about to call out when she saw Louis, the Prince of Condé, step up to her side. Instinctively, Lola moved out of sight, embarrassed to be so sneaky but something about the scene disturbed her. Peeking surreptitiously at the couple, she observed an intimacy to their whispered words that was unmistakable. They never touched; in fact, the distance between them was cordial. But there was something inimitable in the way their bodies angled towards the other. She watched Louis bow before turning and leaving Mary staring – _longingly?_ \- in his wake. There were rumours at court that the handsome prince was taken with the Queen. These rumours were not unique, especially when courtiers were prone to salacious gossip – mostly without much cause. _But how had she missed this?_ She knew things were not well between Mary and Francis - the whole palace knew they now kept to separate quarters, _but surely Mary would never stray from her marriage?_

Lola played the scene over in her mind and kept coming back to the same conclusion. There had been a familiarity, a trust yes, but also an unmistakable intimacy between Louis and her Queen. Taking a moment, she moved from her hiding place and called out to Mary.

"Lola," Mary said, startled from her reverie. "I was coming to find you. I've heard you are leaving court?"

"Yes. Lord Narcisse and I think it best... under present circumstances. Things are tense enough as is and he needs to rest." _Among other things_. The latter, along with her stifled smile, she kept to herself.

Mary nodded, looking pained and awkward. "Lola," she began.

Lola shook her head. "There is no need," she said. "We have been friends for many years, more like sisters actually. If we cannot be honest with each other, then we do not deserve the right to call upon the other as such." Tears filled Mary's eyes and Lola moved closer, pulling her friend into her arms. They would be alright.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"You were right," Mary acknowledged. Lola didn't ask about what. They both knew.

"I didn't want to be. Can we at last truly move past this?"

Mary nodded. "Yes," she said with vehemence. "I want that very much."

"So do I."

Lola shifted uncomfortably. _Should she say something?_ "Mary, before I go... How are things between you and Francis? I know since... the incident, things have been difficult. I've heard the rumours and I have eyes. I know you speak little of your troubles but-"

Mary shrugged, an unbridled pain reflected in her eyes. "I love him. I love him still. But I cannot... It's better this way. For both of us."

"Are you sure there is nothing that can be done?"

"It's... complicated." But when Mary offered no more, Lola didn't press. _Feelings for another always made matters more complicated._ The Queen gave her a weak smile meant to inspire confidence. It did no such thing.

"Despite our difficulties, I want you to be happy Mary."

Mary kissed her cheek. "I know."

Here they were, both of them married and yet who would have imagined she would feel the greater hope at the prospect of her union to Narcisse. And she did feel it keenly – she felt _hope_.

* * *

"You leave, I hear? And without my permission, I might add." Lola found Francis in the gardens and steered him towards the rose court. The _other_ direction... well, that was where she and her husband had…

He spoke with a small, but inviting smile and Lola smiled back, relieved that perhaps, he too, did not want to part in anger. In many ways, things between them had always been easy. That is, it was so until her marriage.

"Francis, I really do not wish to-"

He waved a hand to silence her. "I know that things have been difficult for you. God knows Mary and I have made our fair share of mistakes. Perhaps one of our greatest was marrying you to Narcisse."

Lola bit her lip and looked away, saying nothing as they strolled side by side. The gardens were lush, the smell of roses permeating the air.

"Lola?" She glanced at him. "You're not... Dear God don't tell me you're in love with him?!"

Clutching at the handle of her parasol wearily, she said softly, "The status of the marriage you bartered me into is really none of your concern." Lola sighed, tired of all the questions. _Why was she constantly expected to justify her feelings for her husband? And then made to feel guilty for it?_

"We had an agreement." He'd stopped but she kept walking, forcing him to catch up to her.

Lola shook her head, her tone calm and even. "No, we never had an agreement. You asked me to marry him and I did - although we both know I had no choice in the matter. But I am making a choice now. I will not spy on him for you, or anyone else."

"Your allegiance to France should be your primary duty."

"That is where we differ. My allegiance is to myself and as an extension our son is my primary concern. And seeing as it is forbidden for Jean-Philippe to even visit with me at my new home, that leaves _me_ as my first and only concern."

"You would let him plot against me and stand by idly?"

Lola stopped then, saddened to be having such a heavy conversation amongst such beauty. The roses were in bloom, their scent meant to soothe and bring comfort, spread joy. She faced her friend and King and looked him in the eye, resolute.

"It should not be necessary for me to say this, but no. Never. You know this. But I will also give him the benefit of my trust _." I have to_ , she added silently. It's what you did for the people you loved. "I need you to trust my judgement on this."

"Clearly your judgement has been clouded by Narcisse's charms," he said bitterly.

Lola's eyes narrowed and she felt her temper spike. She would not give him the satisfaction. "You think so little of me, that I would be swayed by flowery sentiment?" Lola shook her head, disappointed.

"I feel like..." he closed his eyes and she saw pain flash across his face."I feel like... I'm losing you," he admitted. "Just like I've lost Mary."

Lola's heart broke. She loved him dearly, respected him still. But she could not be _that_ person for him any longer. She was a married woman. And he, he was the King who needed to make a choice about the type of life he wanted.

Gently, she placed a hand to his arm. "I will always be your friend Francis. I will always be a loyal subject. But I cannot be your confidant. You are the King of a country, but you are also a husband and friend to many. Perhaps you should focus more on the people in your life who love and care for you. Vengeance is no life partner." Lola thought of Mary and Condé. "Let go of the bitterness and attempt to rebuild your marriage."

She saw him slump over in defeat and her heart ached for him. But comforting the king was no longer her duty.

"You will regret this," he said, his eyes hard, anger and disappointment vivid in the aura he projected.

With a heavy heart, Lola turned and cast off the shackles of her past. Trusting Narcisse was her choice. She'd made it. And she would live with the consequences.

"Goodbye Francis."

* * *

"You're leaving?! But you've just arrived!" Kenna said, quite sulky for a grown woman.

"It's for the best. But we will be back. Stéphane still has business with the King. Right now, he just needs some rest."

"I look forward to having you back," Greer said, giving her a hug.

"I'm sorry, about what I said the other day," Kenna began. "It was tactless of me - which is usually my thing anyway," she rambled on before saying sincerely, "but you know this. I didn't mean to make things worse for you. I just-"

"There have been more than enough apologies in the last few days to last me a lifetime."

"I promise to try and be more supportive. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"Then don't pretend Kenna. I, more than anyone else, know who I've married and like every other married couple, we're trying to navigate our way through many complexities. I need you to trust my judgement. That is all."

"You have it," Greer said.

"How about we visit you in a few weeks? It's hunting season and I know Narcisse is an avid hunter?" Kenna offered.

Lola positively beamed. "You would come and visit with me?" It meant the world that they would try.

"Yes! We'd love that. Bash is always off on official duties, so it could easily be arranged."

Lola waved her friends off and was left with one final task – find her husband. A quick enquiry later and she knew he was with the King. Approaching Francis's chambers, she heard raised voices and entered – for the moment, unobserved.

"I warn you, this approach will not work." Narcisse said, his voice formal, stiff, and slightly elevated. He was frustrated as he stood in front of Francis's desk.

"I am the King, Narcisse. This is my decision."

"Indeed. You _are_ the King and as such people will bow to you in deference. But the Nobles will gather in secret and bemoan their fate amongst themselves. You will not win their loyalty in this way."

"What makes you the authority?"

"Perhaps because I've been there? I've been to those meetings, _headed_ them actually," Narcisse said, his voice a challenge, his stance defiant. Lola swallowed, uncomfortable. "Let us not pander about aimlessly. I'm sure my candour will be appreciated. Your rule is tolerated Francis. You need to do more to collaborate with the Nobles. Henry knew when to give and take. His decision making..." he shrugged, "well, that left a lot to be desired. The point is, he was venerated because of his approach. You... you're behind on both counts."

"Oh shut up, Narcisse." Francis seethed. He was standing now, resting his hands on the desk. He was angry.

Lola saw her husband's jaw tense, barely containing his own rage. The tension between King and subject was thick and explosive.

Finally, bowing low, his voice cold and mocking, Narcisse said, "As you wish, Majesty. I have said my piece and now you must lie in the bed you've made."

"Are you _threatening_ me?"

Lola's heart leapt into her throat as she moved out of sight.

"A mere warning," Narcisse drawled on his way out, "of the inevitable consequence of this route. You will not win this battle. I can guarantee it."

She shivered at his clipped tone and steely resolve.

* * *

Their departure from Court took longer than either had anticipated. She waited in the throne room, everything she'd heard ruminating in her head. The threat had been implied and clear. _What had they been discussing?_ When Narcisse found her, he smiled warmly but she could see the latent anger simmering in his eyes. She stared uneasily at him but mentioned nothing of what she'd seen or heard.

The carriage ride was uncomfortable for him, not anticipating how painful the jostling about would be. It was made worse by the fact that he had instructed their driver to get them home as swiftly as possible.

It was late afternoon, the sun almost setting when she walked into her rooms. It felt like a lifetime had passed since she had stepped from it, when in actuality, it was mere days prior.

Stéphane had left her in the parlour with a surprisingly chaste kiss on her forehead. Her disappointment must have been evident because his eyes twinkled as he leaned in close, his beard ticking her cheek as he whispered something naughty in her ear. She gasped, sure her face was beat red. He only chuckled.

"I have one piece of business to attend to. Thereafter..." he let the innuendo hang in the air before asking, "Have dinner with me?"

She nodded, not sure she could actually speak. _What business? Dared she ask?_ His hand tugged at an errant curl and it dropped to her shoulder. Her heart began its usual erratic beat, but with only a heated gaze, he turned and left. _Trust_. He had offered her trust. Despite her unease, she reminded herself that it worked both ways. Lola spent the next few hours fretting about what she had heard and whether she should discuss it with Stéphane. _Perhaps he would tell her himself? What if he did not?_

Eventually however, dinner was brought in by the servants and a table beautifully laid on the terrace. Candles blazed everywhere, casting a beautiful, intimate and romantic glow to the immediate surrounds. She realised then that she didn't want to fight tonight. She'd exchanged enough heated words with her sovereigns and friends. Tomorrow she would deal with court intrigue and possible treason - she shuddered at the thought.

So she made a choice. Tonight would be about them. No Francis, no Mary. She pressed her hands to her belly and breathed out slowly. Decision made, she felt the morning's nerves return. _Had it been mere hours since their encounter in the palace gardens?_ If she closed her eyes, she could see it with crystal clarity; feel his mouth on her-. _Dear God_. She went warm all over.

"Lord Narcisse is on his way up, my Lady," Jacqueline said with a bow. Dinner had been served.

Instantly an idea struck. _Dared she?_

"Jacqueline, if I might make a request?" she asked conspiratorially. As the girl left, Lola waited on the terrace, relieved to feel the cool breeze caressing her heated face. She felt warm and restless, curious, anxious, excited about the night that lay ahead. Arms embraced her from behind and she jumped in surprise, but instantly relaxed when she felt Stéphane's lips at the nape of her neck. Well perhaps she didn't relax, but she did turn around to face him.

"Hello," she whispered, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. He had changed, wearing a dark grey shirt, a red vest and black breeches. He looked relaxed, his eyes warm and soft.

Lola caressed his rough cheek, her finger trailing from his temple to his chin. He really was devilishly handsome.

"Hungry?" he asked, his head cocking in the direction of the table laden with food.

"Yes," she said, her fingers still trailing down his neck, skimming his Adam's apple, and coming to rest over his heart, the other hand at the nape of his neck.

His brow lifted in surprise as his eyes flicked from her hand back to her eyes.

"Shall we then?" he moved towards the table, but her hands stalled him.

Lola breathed deeply. "Not for food."

The brow hitched even higher, a surprised chuckle escaping from his lips.

"What would you like then?" His arms enveloped her, pulling her flush against him, his hands resting possessively on the swell of her buttocks.

"You." Desire flared in his eyes, a satisfied smirk across his lips. He tugged, pulling her even closer. Just before their lips were to meet, she shook her head, heady on the sound of his heightened breathing. She placed a finger to his lips to stall him and gasped when he gently took it into his mouth and sucked. _Oh_. Simmering desire spiked.

"I need a few minutes. Would you meet me in your chambers?"

"We're currently in _your_ chambers." His mouth tried to claim hers again and she averted, his lips instead trailing down her cheek to suck gently at her neck. She almost moaned but tried to regain her balance. She pushed gently.

"One moment," she promised. "Now go."

Reluctantly, he stepped back, his eyes burning into hers. She swallowed a few times, her throat dry. His gaze held so much promise.

The minute the door closed behind him, Lola turned and went to work. It took slightly longer than a minute, but soon enough, she knocked breathlessly on the door to his chambers and entered. He stood in the centre of the room, turning towards her as she stepped inside. When his eyes rested on her, all he did was stare. She'd never seen him thus - slack jawed, at a loss for words. The feeling went a long way to soothing her nerves, replaced in fact with a surge of pleasure at the knowledge of the power she held over him.

Walking towards him, she watched his eyes trail down her body, her form completely outlined in the deep red negligee Kenna had given her.

"You're a gift," he whispered, his hands reaching for and spanning her waistline. "Shall I unwrap you?"

The soft lace moulded to her curves, hidden slightly by the chiffon robe.

"Oh Lola," he whispered, his voice deep and low. He reached for the broad satin sash at her waist and tugged, the fabric giving way under the pressure. The lapels opened and he parted the gown. His eyes found hers as his hands moved slowly upwards, his palms cupping breasts that fairly spilled out of the snug bodice. "You never cease to surprise."

Before her courage failed her, or she fully succumbed to his sensual ministrations, she turned her head and saw the bathtub before the fireplace. It had been the request she'd made of Jacqueline. "Will you join me?"

He shook his head but smiled in utter delight. "Not this time."

She shivered as he pushed at the fabric and the gown fell to the floor, leaving her standing in the tight lace corset and sheer skirt. His hands skimmed from her shoulder to her fingertips, the fine hairs across her skin rising in response. Lola shivered even though she was not at all cold. Unable to stand the anticipation any longer, she grasped his vest and yanked him towards her, her lips meshing with his in an outrageous kiss. Fire - hot, instant, all consuming coursed through her as she pressed into him, needing to get closer – nothing felt close enough.

His tongue played with hers, the game slick, hot and to any lady's sensibilities, most definitely improper. She couldn't get enough of him, wanting to breathe him into her person if she could. They would combust spontaneously; she was sure of it.

Deft hands saw her from her clothing, the fact registering when lace pooled at her feet. She had the impulse to cover herself, but raising her gaze to his, all she saw was desire and deep appreciation. Gone was his usual smirk. Blue eyes raked across her, leaving her in no doubt that all he wanted, all he was focused on, was her.

"You are exquisite," he breathed against her mouth, each word punctuated with a deep, wet kiss as he hoisted her up and against him, his hands gripping her behind. Their faces were now level as they panted with mutual lust, his gaze dark and penetrating and she admitted, so very sexy. Lola wrapped her legs around his waist, biting her lips as she pressed against him intimately. Her hands cupped his face, taking a moment to run her fingers across his cheeks, placing soft, intimate kisses along his jaw line. She was naked, breathless, _eager_ , her cascading hair brushing tantalisingly at the top of her backside as he walked over to the large bathtub. Lola gasped as his nails gently raked across her thighs.

"Step inside."

Lola lowered her legs into the warm, fragrant water, her hands tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"Get in with me."

He chuckled. "Not tonight. Tonight..." he drawled, "is all about you."

"What is it with you and a bath?"

"Soon," he promised. But those were the last words he spoke for a very long time. He ran his soaped hands across her skin, his fingers gliding across the smooth, wet surface, caressing the crevices, pinching gently at sensitive places. Lola felt drunk under the onslaught, completely and utterly under his spell. Palms now massaged her firm breasts, his head dipping every so often to suckle at the pebbled buds of her nipples. Lola felt moisture pool between her thighs, the feeling accompanied by the need to rub against him. But he lifted her again and when her feet touched the ground, their kisses became a carnal of frenzy of need.

Tugging at his clothes, she began unbuttoning his vest at the same time that he attempted to shrug out of it. She helped him remove his shirt, her hands and eyes grateful to finally have the opportunity to look and touch. He was beautiful. Lola bit her lip as her eyes feasted on muscled, warm skin. His chest was hard, dark hairs arrowing downwards and disappearing into breeches that hung low on his hips. Her hands went to his stomach and she could feel the muscles there contract under her touch. Her fingers skimmed across the white bandage that still covered his midsection, her eyes searching his.

"Are you sure?"

His response was a searing kiss that left her mindless. His hands fisted in her hair and Lola turned her face against his wrist as his lips nipped across her neck. She caught sight of the scarred butterfly birthmark and gently placed her lips to it, kissing the bruised flesh. His eyes, soft with surprise, caught hers as he gently, but with deliberate intent, hoisted her back into his arms.

His lips were magic and she could not stop sampling their perfection. His tongue, deft and sure, sucked on her own, his teeth tugging playfully on her bottom lip.

"Turn around," he ordered and Lola frowned. She assumed he was taking her to the bed. Instead, she was back on her feet, facing a long mirror. She gasped, mortified at the image of her nakedness reflected back at her. She moved to turn away, but he stalled her, holding her in place, her back to his chest, his arms around her waist.

"Look," he ordered. "Look at what happens when I touch you."

With her heart beating in her throat, her eyes rose from the ground and looked with trepidation. Her cheeks flamed with colour, but she could not deny the erotic picture they presented. She was utterly naked, Narcisse behind her in only his breeches. Bracketed around her hips, his powerful thighs held her in place as he caught her eyes in the mirror, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.

Heat shot towards her groin and she trembled, unable to stop her eyes from looking to her breasts as she felt her nipples tighten in response.

"Now," he whispered, his rough cheek against hers, "raise your arms and link it behind my neck."

She didn't think about, she just did it. Then she gasped. Her breasts, already swollen and heavy, lifted and rose even higher as she moved her arms upwards. The rosy peaks throbbed; stiff, begging for his touch. The hands that had been resting on her naked belly, now moved upwards, his fingers drawing maddening patterns on the skin just below the swell of her breasts.

In the mirror, she watched fascinated as his darker skin contrasted with the paleness of her own. It was sensual and utterly sexy. She watched her skin flush, her ribcage expanding and contracting as desire spread, consuming every part of her.

Her knees wobbled and Lola braced them, trying to stop herself from swaying. Her eyes locked with his briefly and butterflies flapped furiously in her belly at the possessive look in his. His hips jutted forward, his thighs squeezing the outside of her own. She could feel his erection against her backside and flushed. Her eyes squeezed shut when his hands cupped her breasts, kneading the high, firm mounds gently.

"Breathe, Lola," he whispered and her breath stuttered out in a rush as his fingertips rolled her nipples between them, pinching gently. She felt her mind shut down, her breathing now that of someone who had run for miles.

"Oh please..." she moaned, her eyes heavy lidded, opened again, riveted to the sight of what his hands were doing to her body.

But he showed her no mercy from the delicious onslaught. His hands travelled lower and her eyes widened as she watched him cup her sex. She was wet, drenched, his fingers gliding easily against her slick folds. His breathing was louder now as she watched (and felt) the slide of a finger, then two inside of her. Her thighs did tremble then, and shamelessly, she opened them to offer him better access.

He took full advantage of the concession. His fingers moved, pushing into her with erotic frequency. She watched the hypnotic display, his fingers glinting with the moisture from her body. Lola moaned, so very turned on by the shocking display. His fingers stretched, flexed, rubbing against the swollen walls inside of her.

When he started to withdraw, she clamped her thighs around them, trying to hold him in place. His rich chuckle in her ear drove her to distraction.

"Patience," he whispered as he moved his hand from her front to her back, his soaked fingers now entering her slick passage from behind. The view this presented her in the mirror was the most erotic thing she had ever witnessed in her life. She had an unblocked view of three of his fingers thrusting inside of her, the moisture from her body glistening off them. The arms around his neck trembled as she shut her eyes, her hips rising and falling instinctively to meet him.

"Now," he whispered, just as his thumb brushed against her clitoris. She cried out, her entire body spasming as her orgasm hit her. Her mouth was dry, her senses in overload. He turned her around and their lips crashed together. Lola could not believe everything she felt for him, everything she wanted _from_ him. Her hands pushed into the back of his breeches, bold in her exploration of his firm behind. She tugged, wanting his breeches off, wanting him inside her. She had waited enough.

"Impatient, are we?" he drawled, his lips at her throat, her breasts, his lips tugged – _oh_. His tongue swirled around the stiff peaks, her groan loud as he took as much of her breast into his mouth as he could. _Dear God._

"Please. _Please_."

He left her for a moment as he stripped off his pants. Whatever thoughts she had left, fled at the sight of his impressive erection. She swallowed, then tried again, her eyes rising to find his own. Their gazes collided and for a moment the frenzy died down as he swung her into his arms, their lips meeting in a tender, but rousing kiss. The moment did not last long however, their kisses now beyond modesty or anything tame and contained. She was thoroughly swept into a storm of passion that she could see no end to.

When he laid her upon the cool sheets of his bed, Lola could not remember ever feeling as mindless or out of control. Her need for him was unlike any sexual experience she had ever had. His thighs parted her own, his legs spread wide, forcing her to hook her ankles around his calves.

"Stéphane, now, please," she panted. She was dying and he was her only salvation.

He raised a brow, his coarse cheek brushing against her own as he panted into her ear. "Still making demands."

"I've learnt," she gasped out between gulps of air as he pressed into her passage.

"Yes, yes you have."

He thrust into her then and she cried out, the sound transformed into a garbled moan when his tongue glided across hers. Tears welled in her eyes at the intensity of the pleasure that shot through her and she shut them tightly as he thrust again and again, the tempo frantic, carnal, _exquisite_. She matched him, her head resting on his forearm as they kissed with wild abandon. She was _surrounded_ by him – and it was glorious. Everything went dark, her body the receptacle of nothing but concentrated bliss.

His hands fisted in her hair and he pulled, the sting associated with the gentle tug the catalyst that released her orgasm. Lola fell, tumbling into nothingness as he thrust once more, following her into the abyss.


	9. Chapter 9

The next month passed in an absolute blur, the whirlwind so rapid, Lola was unable to catch her breath. But for the first time in her life, logical, practical Lola was forgotten in lieu of a braver woman. She could not remember feeling such happiness – happy to be alive, happy to be learning new things, happy, in fact, to be married again. She knew being away from court helped the situation and therefore relished the time she spent with her husband without the worry of having to explain her feelings or actions to anyone – that included herself. She could pretend that there was no imminent threat to their happiness, that the things she had overheard she might have misinterpreted because frankly, she was tired of being worried all the time.

Stéphane proved that he continued to be a complex, sometimes broody, yet deeply affectionate man. The more she gave of herself, the more she felt he reciprocated in kind. It was in equal portions lovable and terrifying. Because she knew now with absolute certainty that she was in love with him. She also knew that there were darker, deeper parts of him that he had not yet revealed. He was shrewd, did not suffer fools gladly but was conversely surprisingly humorous and even gentle. He often teased her, no longer leaving her feeling like he was trying to vex her. Instead, she felt that it was an endearing quality he now reserved specifically for her.

She learned also that sex between a man and a woman could be a lot more than what she'd experienced prior. He was an amorous lover, spontaneous, and unafraid to teach her about the myriad of ways that two consenting adults might please one another. Her sexual awakening was thrilling, touching her deeply, solidifying the connection between them because there was no way they could share such intimate experiences and not connect as people, partners, as lovers. She  _trusted_.

They spoke nothing of his duty to Francis, even though she knew that correspondence between him and the King was frequent. Perhaps she was burying her head in the sand, but she was tired of over thinking every aspect of her life. For now, they were happy. She did not want to ruin that.

He surprised her,  _constantly_ , with things he knew she loved. They went riding often. And with him as her guide, it gave her a new perspective on his love for his land and people. He raced across the vast acreage with her, stopping to point out hideouts where he'd played as a child, beautiful vistas and secluded groves. He'd also introduced her to the scandalous experience of making love outside,  _in broad daylight_ , with the grass beneath them and the sun at their backs. It was when, she'd realised, he was completely relaxed, that his demeanour was most playful. It was disarming to watch him thus, and she felt sure she was privy to a side of himself few people ever saw. It warmed her heart, leaving her feeling as carefree and contented.

Sitting in the shade of a large tree in the lush garden, Lola smiled at her closest friends. She was exhausted, the last few weeks filled with preparations for their visit. Rooms had to be prepared, menus crafted and activities planned. The servants had been thrilled beyond measure to be receiving the Queen of France. Lola though, was simply grateful that Mary had accepted her invitation. While she knew Greer and Kenna had expressed their enthusiasm, she had not been sure whether Mary would acquiesce – or whether Francis would even permit it.

"Now," Kenna said, garnering Lola's attention. They sat around a small table, enjoying delicious pastries and gossiping shamelessly about everything at court. The gardens stretched for miles in every direction, everything deep greens. "Do tell us everything."

"I tried," Greer said, an apologetic smile in Lola's direction. "Really, Mary and I warned her to give you  _some_  room before the inevitable interrogation."

"And I waited a whole evening and a day did I not?" They laughed.

"Your forbearance is admirable, Kenna," Mary said as she laughed too, sipping at her tea.

"I will say," Kenna said with a wink, "that I did observe you both across dinner last night. Do not even try telling me things have not escalated between you. Good God. The looks he sent your way might very well have overcooked the roast had one been served!"

Lola blushed, fully aware of the heated stares she'd tried all evening to ignore. But this was how it was between them. Since they'd made love for the first time, their passion for each other seemed only to intensify.  _Did other couples feel this too?_ It had definitely not been like this for her before.

"I admit," she began, "that my husband and I have… been intimate," she said, trying hopelessly not to be gauche. They were all married women after all.

"And?!" Kenna practically squeaked. Greer and Mary laughed, but she could tell they both awaited her response with equal, if more subdued anticipation.

"It's been… wonderful," she admitted, letting the breath she'd been holding out in a rush. Mary nodded, encouraging her to continue. "He's attentive and kind. We're trying, I suppose, to get to know one another."

"Inside and outside of the bedroom?"

"Kenna!" Mary and Greer said in unison.

Lola laughed, grateful for the humour. "Yes Kenna. Inside and out."

"You're not going to give me  _any_  details are you?"

"I don't know if we could handle it really," said Greer. "Kenna is right of course. Those looks last night were practically indecent."

"Its her honeymoon," Mary said, biting into a square of marzipan. "It's allowed."

Lola held up her hand to stop them. "All I will say," she said conspiratorially, "is that everything we read in that journal was only the beginning."

Kenna's eyes bulged from her head and Greer opened her silk fan, waiving it quite purposefully. The Queen was slightly more poised, but Lola didn't miss the way she squirmed in her seat.

"I know what you're all thinking," Lola continued, amused, "but its nothing sordid or depraved, or dirty. Well," she amended under her breath, "maybe a  _little_  dirty-"

"Lola!" they all cried.

"I'm sorry, I'm teasing you!"

"Of  _course_  you are," Kenna said, not at all convinced.

"You are happy, I see that so clearly." Mary said, a sadness in her eyes that Lola sensed had nothing to do with her.

"Yes, yes I am. I never thought I would be when I first arrived here. But I am. The tenants are wonderful, as are the servants. I've settled in remarkably quickly."

"I shamelessly admit to snooping a little," Greer said. At Lola's sharp look, she amended, "what I mean is, I wanted to know what the servants thought of you. You know, happy servants are loyal. I can say with confidence Lola, your ladies maid adores you."

"Jacqueline?"

Greer nodded.

"She has been invaluable," Lola said. "But so has everyone else. I think, despite the fact that I am not Stéphane's first wife, I am the first to take as much of an interest in the wellbeing and welfare of the people on his land."

"I am pleased, truly," Mary said, "to see you settled."

"So am I. You know I worry," Greer added.

Kenna nodded, then winked. "I'm truly glad that it seems like none of your husband's talents have been exaggerated at all."

Greer shushed Kenna. "Speaking of…" Greer said "where is your husband?"

"Business," Lola said. "It is not unusual for him to spend the entire day in meetings with nobles or attending to estate matters."

"I am glad to hear then that we have not scared him off."

Lola laughed. "Well, I did have to threaten him a little to make sure he would always be home in time for dinner."

"I am sure the latest French fashion and court gossip is not any man's idea of a good evening," Mary said.

"I just want you all to get to know him. I know the past has been rife with disagreements, but I do so wish for all of you to get along with him."

"We will," said Greer. "But, if you'll excuse me, I have some correspondence to complete before dinner."

"Wait for me," Kenna said. "I might as well send a note to Bash. Lord knows he is unlikely to see it, always being off on some mission for the King," she said with a depressed sigh, "but I shall play the role of a dutiful wife."

"Is everything alright, Kenna?" Lola asked as Kenna rose to leave.

Her friend shrugged and gave her a weak smile. "All of us married, yet beside for you Lola, we're all alone." The sentiment was sobering as Lola watched her two friends leave. It was true. Lord Castleroy had fled, leaving Greer alone. Bash had duties which seemed to supersede the time he prioritised for his wife and the King and Queen were also having a very difficult time. Again, she realised, her marriage was in fact, in the best place of all.

Alone, Mary and Lola decided to stroll across the lawns, catching up and Lola hoped, taking the opportunity to work on the distance that had crept into their friendship.

"You share a bedroom?" Mary asked.

"We do. After… well, our first night together, he took the liberty of having my things moved in and I did not stop him. When I first arrived here, I had-" she laughed, " _no idea_  what the arrangement would be between us. I recall wondering how I would ever manage spending time with him in such close quarters."

"And now?"

"Oh I still wonder the very same thing," she admitted, her eyes smiling into Mary's. "Yet I continue to be strangely excited at the prospect."

Mary's expression took on a faraway look. "When I first married Francis, I too was as happy as you are now. I was thrilled to spend every moment with him, getting to know my husband intimately."

"Oh Mary, what's changed? Are things really so far gone that there is nothing to be salvaged?"

"A marriage is a difficult course to navigate. Trying to achieve that while wearing a crown makes it so much harder. I have tried. Francis has tried. But too much has happened for us to go back to where we once were. I feel like it was all so long ago, the dream I had for us. Now, I see things with a little more clarity." They walked in silence before Mary said, "He has taken other lovers."

Lola gaped at her. "What?! I cannot believe-"

"It was at my request. He refused initially, but with time…"

"Forgive me, but you sound… alright with it? Pleased even."

"Pleased? No. He is my husband and I will always love him. But I cannot be with him and I still wish him every happiness."

"It sounds so trite and yet all I can think of to say is that I am sorry."

"Do not be. I have moved past it."

 _How?_   _With Prince Condé?_  Lola wondered. But until Mary chose to confide in her, she would say nothing.

They'd reached the house and Lola saw a servant pass with a letter on a gold tray. It was the royal seal that caught her eye.

"Alain, that letter, is it for Lord Narcisse?"

The servant nodded. "It is my Lady."

"Thank you." The servant moved off and Lola turned to Mary.

"Do you have any idea of what business Narcisse carries out for Francis?"

Mary shrugged. "Advice on crops, which nobles are more or less useful I suppose… I am not completely sure what the current nature of their arrangement is."

Lola had a sinking feeling, one she could no longer ignore. It was time to find out what was going on.

"Mary, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course. I'll see you at dinner."

Lola left her friend and went in search of her husband. She found him in his chambers, reading the very letter she had just seen. He looked anything but pleased.

"Is everything alright?" He looked up, surprised to see her. Lola slipped inside and closed the door behind her. "I saw the royal seal on the letter before it was delivered."

He sighed out loud, running a hand across his temple. For a moment, he looked as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Gone was the carefree lover of the past month. Here, in this moment, he reminded her of the man she used to encounter at court – a little distant, reserved. The reality was that both these men were one and the same. She had just been trying to separate the two.

"This is not the first letter I've received from Francis. A few days ago the first in a series arrived. Initially, our King had accused me of having incited some nobles against him." Narcisse rose from his chair, rounded the desk and leaned against the front. She could tell his calm demeanour was deceptive. Beneath the surface, frustration began to bubble to the surface.

Lola blinked, confused. "When? What does he mean? I don't understand."

"Before we left court, Francis and I had a… disagreement about how to manage an issue between two noble families. I warned him that his way was not ideal, but he did not heed my words. In the first letter, the King accused me of inciting some nobles in an attempt to prove him wrong."

"But that's preposterous," Lola said. "This last month, you've not left the estate. And when you have, you and I have been together."

He remained silent and looked away. Lola felt a shiver race up her spine. "It is impossible, is it not? Unless you've been managing clandestine meetings when I am asleep." She said the last part as a joke, to try and break the mounting tension in the room. But still he said nothing. When his eyes eventually reached hers, she knew something was terribly wrong.

"What?" she asked, a whisper.

His stare was hard. "I did meet with them... once. The night we arrived back from court."

Lola recalled now, how he had had some business before they were to dine together. "Why would you do that? Is Francis correct in his assertion that you still work against him?" Her heart was pounding and she felt her happiness begin to spiral outside of her control.

"No," he drawled, his voice cool at her question, matter of fact. "How quickly you doubt."

Lola shook her head. "Its just that I don't-"

"It is true that I've met with some nobles. The purpose of the  _one_  meeting was to sway them towards the King's cause, not against it… to try and garner some understanding for the heavy handedness of our King's approach."

"Why have you hidden this from me?" Lola asked. "Especially when Francis accused you of inciting insurrection."

"I hid nothing from you Lola."

"Lying by omission is still a lie!" she exploded.

"What would you have me do? Report every action I take to you? You are my wife and I did not mislead you when I asserted that I wanted a partner. But you are not my keeper and I do not need to request permission to meet with or discuss any manner of subjects with my peers!" Annoyance flashed across his face as he began to pace back and forth. "It was our honeymoon. Our first time together as husband and wife, a new beginning for both of us. I did not think it necessary to sully it with something that was not even worth mentioning."

She would not let him see how his words cut into her. This she realised, was the core of their marriage. He had the power to hurt her because she felt so much.

"And yet Francis found out. He knew you met with those nobles and he will have you pay for it!"

"Subsequent communication has allayed Francis's fears somewhat on what my intent was. However, I suppose in a show of true loyalty, he has asked me to solve this problem."

"I don't understand. Does Francis believe that you meant no harm?"

Narcisse cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps, yes. Eventually. But he has asked me to deal with this matter in the way I had initially proposed and he had rejected."

Lola's mind flashed to the conversation she had overheard so long ago. Narcisse's threat to Francis now made sense. She felt fear when she asked the next question. "What did you suggest he do?"

He turned to her then, his eyes seeking hers and holding with purpose. Lola wished for all the world she could look away, look anywhere else. But she knew that the truth lay in his gaze. She just wasn't sure whether she had the strength to face it.

"I suggested he arrange an accident, that the noble in question be the unfortunate recipient of a nasty fall from a spooked horse. Or any other method equally effective in eradicating a foe. I am sure you understand my meaning."

Her body flushed with heat, then went stone cold as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"You advised that Francis kill a man?"

"Yes."

"You admit it, so freely, as if you were delivering confirmation of the weather."

"I told you I would never lie to you."

"Will this man not have a trial? What are his crimes? You cannot play at being God! Bring him back to court and let justice take its course. Your hand does not have to be the one that kills!"

"The noble in question has been supporting a movement to destabilise France! It has been brewing for a while, but after the protestant attack, many of the nobles who doubted Francis's rule gained a little perspective. That is slowly being eradicated with talk of all out war. One man," Narcisse said, passionate, "is capable of bringing this country to its knees. That man  _used_  to be me." His voice was calm, his gaze focused and hard. "I therefore know what one man is capable of. And if this noble is not stopped, what happened at court a few months back will be but a preview of what's to come."

Lola thought of what had happened to Mary and shuddered. A million thoughts raced through her mind. Only one screamed louder than all the others. "It's murder," she whispered.

She saw him recoil slightly from her, retrieving the letter from his desk.

"I must pack." He was leaving.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"There are matters to attend to before I journey south to meet Bash. I will see that this is done personally."

"You will kill this man?" Her voice had risen slightly, all calm gone.

"Everything is not black and white Lola. And being the head of a country means that you are forced to make very difficult decisions. I am a servant of France. And I now fight alongside the King to ensure that the sanctity of his rule is preserved. I am sorry you cannot understand that."

He stopped beside her, a finger trailing down her cheek. Lola felt goosebumps rise across her skin as tears burned the back of her eyelids.  _Had it been just this morning when he had roused her from sleep with kisses?_   _When the day had dawned anew, alight with possibilities?_

He hesitated a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "I've never experienced love. I've been married, yes, but I've never felt that tangible connection to any of the women who've shared by life. But I think I've finally found the elusive jewel with you." His words were low, his eyes burning with sincerity. "I think I loved you from the moment I saw you. Except I did not recognise it as such until the day I heard of your defence of me. No one had ever done that - defended me to a King, damning the consequences.  _I love you_. And if there is the slightest chance to hope that you might feel the same way, I hope that you understand that you need to love all of me, Lola. Not the man you hope I will become. But the man I am."

Her brain shut down as she watched him walk from the room. She wanted to call out to him to wait, but the words did not come.  _Love_. He loved her. She couldn't muster the joy she'd hoped she'd feel at such a confession. She felt only fear, helplessness and confusion. Sinking into a chair, Lola battled with herself and all she had believed in for so long.

_I hope that you understand that you need to love all of me, Lola. Not the man you hope I will become. But the man I am._

She sat in the quiet room for a long time, lost in her own thoughts, turning what she now knew over and over in her head. But when a servant entered to pack some of Narcisse's things, the reality that he was leaving home hit her. She had no resolution to her feelings, but she would not have him depart without some chance at understanding.

Lola found him in the last place she would have looked - that is, the activity was the last thing she would have expected. But she was learning that there was so much about Stéphane that was not as she had initially imagined.

She watched him brush the flank of his stallion, his strokes measured, hypnotic, but loving. He whispered to the horse too, chuckling when the steed nuzzled his side. This was her favourite side to him - the one without any defences. This man, this complex, infuriating, dark, dangerous man loved her. And heaven help her, she loved him too.

"I never thanked you, you know." He looked up, but did not seem surprised to see her. "For my dowry."

A whisper of a smile passed across his lips as he continued his task.

"I meant it when I told you it was yours. That covenant did not change simply because you were going to be wed to me. It's always been yours."

"You gave me the means to leave you... to be able to live comfortably without your protection." She pushed forward, coming closer, the horse between them. He made no response. "I've never known a man like you. Outwardly you present a facade to the world and yet in private, it is an entirely different matter."

"Is this not the case with all men? We, none of us are as we seem. We all have hidden depths and secret emotions, Lola. I have shared of myself with you. More than with any other."

"You said you loved me." Her mouth was dry and she was surprised the words came out sounding so very calm.

He turned away, placing the brush back on a shelf. With the click of his fingers, Pierre appeared. "Saddle him."

The boy took the reigns of the horse and left them alone in the large stables. Narcisse leaned against a stall, looking off into the distance before hanging his head. Lola frowned, unsure of what to make of his quiet demeanour.

"I will always be skirting the fine line between what you consider to be righteous and proper. There are things I have done, things I know I will do again that you will never approve of."

"The Crown?"

"Things  _for_  the Crown. What duties do you think Bash performs on behalf of the king?"

"He is Francis's right hand," she murmured, recalling Kenna's unhappiness at her husband's absence. "Do you claim to have killed in the service of the King?"

"Henry, yes. Since then, in the service of France."

She swallowed, taking in his truth. "And now?"

"Francis is learning. The reality is, not everything can be solved with diplomacy. Some battles are won through grit and determination. Others, through the eradication of an enemy. With the privilege of being King of a country comes the responsibility of making difficult choices. He has made one."

She didn't answer.

"Francis, Mary, your son and any other offspring the King and Queen might have are protected and safe because of the duties men like Sebastian perform."

"I am not naive and in principle, I do not disagree."

"You just want other men to do the dirty work?"

Lola felt the truth of it and was ashamed. "It's just..."

"Callous?"

"Perhaps," she said, uncertain, uncomfortable. "A part of me knows that these are the decisions that get made. I've just never been faced with it."

"You wanted the truth. This is who I am. I believe in France and in the system of how this country is run. It allows us all to live and thrive."

She felt tears well in her eyes, rising to choke her.  _How had her happiness faded this quickly?_

"When will you be back?"

"I do not know. It depends..." He left it there, his words trailing off.  _It depended on how quickly he was able to kill another man. How quickly the duty could be dispensed._

Stéphane reached for her then, his lips hot, desperate as he kissed her. Lola did not resist, wishing the desire would remove all the anxiety now laying waste to her. Her fingers curled into the collar of his doublet, pulling him into her. He turned, pinning her against the gate, his pelvis pushing into her.

The familiar, urgent surge of desire flowed through her and Lola surrendered to it. She didn't want to think, she only wanted to feel. He spun her around and she braced her hands against the gate in front of her. Her skirts were raised and with his knee, he parted her thighs. Breathless with anticipation, his fingers moved between her legs and he groaned into her ear. She was wet and ready and he had barely touched her.

Panting, his lips at her throat, she felt him push into her from behind. She held her breath, relishing the thick, full feeling. Pushing back into him, she took all of him, moaning when he pulled back, slamming back into her. Their coupling was hot and fast. With one hand curled into her hair and the other guiding her hips, he groaned into her ear, his ragged breathing pushing her desire higher.

Lola felt her release build like a rising storm. When her orgasm hit, she cried out, her body contracting as he continued to thrust into her, his own release following almost immediately.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear. Tears, unbidden now pooled in her eyes. Lola turned, her skirts twisting around her legs as she hugged him close. With one final kiss to her brow, he righted her clothing and then his own.

"Goodbye." With a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach, she watched him walk away from her, powerless to stop him, powerless to give voice to her feelings.

* * *

_Dear Lola,_

_A rider has been dispatched to send you word post-haste. I will follow shortly, but did not want to waste another moment in ensuring word reached you. In the month since your husband and Bash departed on their errand for the King, word has reached us that Bash is enroute to court as I write this._

_It is with a heavy heart that I report that Lord Narcisse is not with him. The details are not yet clear, but it appears that he has been taken hostage. He had the opportunity to dispatch a noble, but chose not to. Instead, he arranged for the man to be sent back to court to stand trial. Before Bash could intercept the envoy, the noble escaped, taking Narcisse captive._

_I assure you that Francis is doing everything he can to locate him._

_I pray God be with you until I arrive._

_All my love,_

_Mary_

* * *

Lola put down the letter, fat tears splattering across the inked page.  _He was taken hostage_. She had had no word from him since the day he'd left her in the stable. Mary had written constantly, relaying word from Bash of their continued wellbeing. She however, had been privy to none of it.

Rising from a chair in their bedroom, she walked towards the balcony, needing some fresh air. She never made it that far because her eyes caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her body was already changing, nourishing the life inside of her. At two months pregnant, there was already a slight swell to her stomach. Lola touched her hands to the still small mound. She had conceived during their first week together.

They had parted with angry words between them. She had never told him she loved him. And now he might never know that she carried his heir inside of her. With the letter crushed to her heart, Lola sunk to the cold, marble floor and wept.  _Dear God, bring him back to me alive._  She thought of their child.  _Back to_ us.


	10. Chapter 10

It was torture, Lola soon realised, to wait for news of one you loved. It was even worse when the news you craved like air to burning lungs could also bring the worst tidings imaginable. Weeks went by without any concrete lead on where her husband had been taken, or whether he was even alive. Lola had to constantly remind herself to focus on the business of living, to try and relax, remain positive among so much hopelessness. Mary had tried to convince her to return to court to await news of Stéphane's fate. But she had refused. She wanted to remain in their home, to make it ready for his return. Her friends wrote to her often but even their support was of little comfort. It was as if he had simply disappeared.

Mary also made frequent trips to the Narcisse estate in those first few weeks of his absence. As a surprise, Francis had allowed Jean-Philippe to accompany the Queen on one of her visits. Whether it was out of pity or an olive branch, Lola was not sure. But she made no protest. Having her son near aided her more than anything else. When she held him, she was reminded of life, of its vitality and the unending promise it presented. More than ever, it was impossible not to think of the life she now nourished inside of her, and whether this child would look like her, look like Stéphane, or be that endearing combination of both.

She had told no one of her pregnancy, hoping that Stéphane would be found and she would have the opportunity to tell him first. But after 12 weeks, it became impossible to hide. Kenna had guessed it first, and then news had spread like wildfire. Now, more than four months into her confinement, she was visibly pregnant. In fact, her stomach was larger than most expected when they heard how far along she was. Some of the tiredness had now passed and she began to feel restless, so Lola began to walk the grounds during the day. Despite the cold of winter and the promise of snow, she found the solitary pursuit cleared her mind and helped restore her faith and purpose.

After the news of her pregnancy, Greer had moved to the estate to play the role of her companion. While she didn't need it, silently, she was grateful for the support. The night before had brought fresh snow. At her instruction, Jacqueline had packed some supplies which Lola planned to take to the Descoteux family. Unable to ride herself, Pierre had prepared the coach and she set out just before mid-morning.

Staring across the vast, stark beauty of the grounds, she marvelled at how the landscape had been transformed. Gone were the lush green fields. In its place icy white vistas greeted the eyes in every direction, solitary and cold. She shivered, wondering whether Stéphane was warm enough, whether he had shelter from the terrible elements. She recalled the cloak she had once given him to stave off the cold. She would give anything to be able to do the same now.

Before long, they had reached their destination. Helping her alight from the carriage, Claudia rushed to meet her.

"Lady Narcisse, I was so pleased to hear that you would visit with us. I was not sure you would make the journey, with the weather so cold."

"I had made a promise Claudia, and I wanted to keep it. Besides, I needed the fresh air."

"Come please, its cold outside."

Lola rushed after Claudia, surprised to discover that she was not as nimble as she had been a week ago. How quickly her body was changing. She didn't remember how her belly became this large. It felt as if one moment it had been slightly rounded and the next, she was clearly pregnant. It had been the same with Jean-Philippe. _The miracle of life_ , she mused.

The inside was exactly as she remembered it – warm and inviting. This time, there were no cheerful blossoms on the table, but a roaring fire burned brightly in the hearth. Agnes sat beside it, her legs covered in a thick, grey blanket. Claudia steered her towards the fire, gesturing to the chair close by.

"Please, warm yourself."

"This is for you," Lola said, passing a basket with bread, cheese and some confectionary to Claudia. The young woman beamed, taking the gift with thanks.

Lola passed Claudia her cloak and both mother and daughter smiled at her in welcome.

"Oh Lady Lola, you look radiant," Claudia said.

Lola sat, grateful to be off her feet, soaking up the heat from the fire. "It's as if I do not remember being in any other state but encumbered thus." Her hands lovingly cradled her bump, a sharp inclination to cry seizing her. Lola blinked rapidly and met Agnes's eyes. The older woman seemed to understand.

"Lord Stéphane is a fighter Lady Lola."

"Thank you," Lola said with a teary smile.

"Is there any news my Lady?"

Lola shook her head. "Nothing yet. The King is doing everything he can. He has sent scouts but there has been no ransom demand, no attempt to communicate or barter at all." She paused a moment. "It's been so long..." Fear settled into the pit of her stomach. She couldn't say the words... _what if..._

"Do not give up hope," Agnes reiterated, gesturing towards her belly. "You carry the future of this estate with you. It is a good omen."

Lola looked down. "I am certain it must be a boy. Although I was not as large, so early, with the Baron."

Agnes eyed her and Lola frowned. "You look to have a thought Agnes?"

"How far along are you if I might enquire?"

"The Doctor predicts around 16 weeks, give or take."

"Has he considered that you might have two heirs inside of you?"

Lola's mind hit a blank, her lips flapping without sound. "What- I don't think... You don't mean..."

Agnes laughed, the sound reverberating around the room. "I have lived long enough and played midwife to enough women to know that it is entirely a possibility that you carry two."

Lola's mind reeled, completely and utterly thrown. A giggle escaped her and her hand clapped over her mouth to stifle it. It was the first time she had laughed in months. Her eyes filled with tears at the same time and Lola leaned over – awkward in her current state - but managed none-the-less to touch Agnes's outstretched hand.

"Thank you."

"I have not confirmed anything," Agnes said, but her eyes sparkled.

"And yet you have offered me the hope of wonderful news."

Lola returned home in a daze. _Could it be possible? Could she be carrying twins?_ Overwhelmed at the thought, but conversely devastated that her children might never know their father, she entered his study. The room was utterly masculine with stone floors, dark rugs and the smell of leather from the books on the shelf. She spent a lot of time in here, especially because it reminded her of him – primal, dark but noble. She shrugged out of her coat and moved to his desk, sitting gingerly in the ornately carved chair. The last conversation they had had in this room had not ended well. The reality weighed heavily on her. She looked around the room, at all his things, this, his private sanctuary.

"I knew I would find you here." Greer entering the room snapped Lola from her reverie. "How was your visit with Pierre's family?"

"Hopeful," Lola murmured as Greer came to sit opposite her.

"Have you heard something from Francis?"

Not ready to share the possibility, Lola kept Agnes's suspicions to herself. "I think the King knows better than to give me false hope."

"Mary mentioned that you argued most vehemently with Francis when you were at court."

"In hindsight, I am a little ashamed. But I was pregnant and my husband had just disappeared. I think I am forgiven."

"Francis has been working tirelessly to try and find him."

"I know."

"It surprises you?"

"A little. But I realised that there's a grudging respect there, I believe. Stéphane has done nothing but prove he would make up for the mistakes of the past. Finally Francis believes it's genuine." Lola gave Greer a watery smile, pressing her lips together. "I miss him."

"Oh Lola."

"When he left, I said some things..."

"You argued?"

"We disagreed and..." her voice cracked. "I am terrified I will never have the opportunity to make it right."

Greer leaned forward, her expression earnest and sad. "Lola," she began, uncomfortable. "There is the chance that... what I mean is, it's been a long while now with very little word."

Lola shook her head. "No, no, do not say it!" She felt anger rise within her and because of it, tears blurred her vision.

"I am sorry. But perhaps you should start to prepare yourself."

"No."

"Lola..."

"He told me he loved me! I was the first. And I didn't say it back!" Tears raced unchecked. Greer came around the desk and knelt at her feet. Lola felt her tenuous grip on her control slip. She had tried so hard to maintain a calm, controlled facade on the outside, to be positive, to believe that he would be alright. The alternative was to accept that he might be dead. The force of that possibility hit her in the solar plexus and she felt sobs overwhelm her.

"He-said-he-loved-me," she gulped between breaths, unable to control the avalanche of emotion. "I-did-not-say-it-back."

"He knew Lola, he must have known." Lola shook her head, denying that possibility. "I saw you together, remember? The night we arrived here and we all had dinner together. I watched you. Both of you. I have made no secret of the fact that I've been most worried about your union. But my mind was at peace after watching that interaction. No matter the type of man Lola, he loved you. _Your_ affection was written all over your face, even if you did not realise it."

Lola faced her biggest fear and looked Greer in the eye, clutching at her hand. "What if he is dead?" Her voice shook, tears now silent soldiers to her words. "What if I am a widow once more? Our life together has just begun and what little time we had I spent entertaining doubts and recriminations."

Greer stood and leaned over into a hug. Lola's shoulders shook under her grief, letting her emotions completely overtake her.

"If tragedy is the case, then you will survive with the love and support of all your friends, and the baby inside of you." Greer pulled back and wiped the tears on Lola's cheeks.

"I asked him not to." The words burst forth from her like a dam wall compromised. "I asked him not to sully his hands with the life of another. And because he listened, he endangered his own life. Don't you see? If he is dead, it's my fault!"

"Lola, no-"

"He let the noble go! He wanted him to return to court to stand trial, a thing I asked of him!"

"Lola! Listen to me. Your husband was a man with his own mind. He knew what he wanted and he pursued it with purpose. He would never have taken a course of action that he did not believe in."

"You don't know that. No one can. You never took the time to get to know him Greer. You speak of his mind, of his character, as if you understood him even a little! You did not! You never tried."

"And I am sorry for it." The soft admission took the wind from her sails and again, tears of frustration pooled in her eyes.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. Lola, it's alright. You are right. I did not know him well, but I do believe he loved you. How could he not?"

"Have we all been cursed Greer? Cursed since the moment we came to France?"

"What? No..."

"Look at us. Mary and Francis, their marriage in ruins. Kenna, having endured such hardship finally found love, except, she finds herself idle and alone. You, you have been blessed with love twice over, each one of those men now further from you than ever. And I... I was so angry at Mary for proposing my marriage to Stéphane. I imagined I would never be happy with him. And yet, I was, for a time so fleeting, I was happy, content and hopeful."

"We trust in God Lola," was all Greer said. But it was not hard to see the truth of her sentiment reflected back at her. They were _all_ alone.

"I'm tired," Lola said. "And I feel a headache coming on. I'm going up to bed."

"Of course. Do you need anything? I could send your dinner up?"

"A little later, please? I just need sleep."

"I'm here, if you need anything."

"You don't have to stay. Who knows how long I shall wait for news that might never come. I cannot expect you to put your own life on hold indefinitely."

"I am here, because I wish to be. I will not leave your side a moment before your child is born."

Not child, Lola thought, _possibly_ , _children_.

* * *

 

"Lola! Lola!" She heard her name called from a distance and tried to shrug off the dream, burrowing deeper under the covers. She was so tired, so very, very tired. But again the incessant call came, accompanied by a hand which now roused her to wakefulness. Opening her eyes, Lola peered up at Greer. It was still dark, but looking around her, she saw Jacqueline moving around the room, lighting candles.

"What's the matter?"

"Bash and Prince Condé have arrived."

Lola frowned but sat up, her heart in her throat, trying to push past at the vestiges of sleep. "Here? Now? Is there any news?"

Greer nodded and Lola attempted to move from the large bed as fast as her encumbered body would allow. Greer helped her off the edge and Jacqueline brought her a shawl to wrap around her shoulders.

Greer put a hand to her shoulder to stave her frantic movement. "They've found him."

Her knees wobbled in a combination of relief and terror. She couldn't bring herself to ask the question, but she must have, because Greer answered her, her own gaze filled with tears.

"He is alive."

Her feet were ensconced in slippers and with Jacqueline leading the way, they hurried along, the lamp she was carrying casting long shadows. Lola felt her whole life culminating to this moment, as if she were experiencing everything from outside of herself.

"How?" she asked Greer.

"They wanted to ransom him." A slight hesitation. "Francis has been in negotiations for a while."

For a moment, Lola stopped as the flickering flame moved off into the distance. It took Jacqueline a moment to realise she was not being followed. She stopped, but gave the friends a moment.

"For a while?"

Greer grimaced, her face an apologetic mess. "Mary asked that we not say anything. There was no guarantee that he would be rescued alive. She did not want to give you false hope."

" _False hope?_ He is my husband!" Lola shook her head, continuing down the passage. Now was not the time.

She followed Jacqueline, assuming the girl knew where he was. When she entered the lounge, her entire body contracted with emotion. She halted, unable to move for a moment. He was there, slumped over in a wingback chair in front of the fire. His shoulders were covered in a rough woollen blanket but her sharp intake of breath must have alerted him to her presence. He lifted his face and Lola looked into those blue eyes she had missed so much. Ignoring everyone around them, she flew across the room, clumsily kneeling by his side.

"You're alive." Her hands went to his hair, matted and dirty, but she didn't care. His beard had grown and his face was slightly emaciated. He had lost weight. She could tell immediately, her hands roving everywhere, just to be certain he was real and whole.

"Lola," he whispered, his voice gruff. She thought she heard it crack with emotion.

She threw her arms around him and immediately, he howled.

Bash's hand was at her shoulder, pulling her away slightly. "His back." At her puzzled gaze, he continued. "He's been whipped. Badly."

As she tried to process the information, an apology fell from her lips automatically. "What can I do?"

"He needs a bath, the doctor and then rest. In that order." Lola looked over to Louis Condé, the speaker. It was the first time she noticed that he too was in the room.

"We've sent for the doctor my Lady, and a bath for Lord Stéphane has been prepared in your chambers."

"Thank you, Jacqueline." She nodded to Bash and Louis, signalling also to Arnaud, Stéphane's manservant. "You may take him up."

Her words were clipped, her eyes assessing as she watched them. They must have known. They had lied to her.

Greer tried to stall her as she went after the men. "Lola, wait-"

"Don't," was all she said. "Perhaps tomorrow I might have a different perspective on the matter. It is for that reason that I wish to entertain no conversation as to why I, his _wife_ , was not apprised of his whereabouts. Why I, his wife, his _pregnant_ wife, was not dignified with a truthful response to the innumerable requests I've sent for information. If we were to have this conversation now, I would likely say something I will deeply regret. Good night Greer."

As Bash and Prince Condé turned to leave, Lola did not address them directly, but spoke to Jacqueline and Arnaud who had helped with Stéphane.

"Prepare rooms for our guests."

"Already done, my Lady."

"Please, follow Jacqueline Prince Condé, Bash. If there is anything you need..."

"Thank you, Lola."

"I will return to assist with Lord Stéphane, my Lady," Arnaud said.

"There is no need. Please fetch fresh towels, some poultices and bandages."

Jacqueline hesitated but curtseyed and left, closing the door behind her. Stéphane sat in the bath before the fire, slumped forward. Lola approached him cautiously, suddenly unsure of what to say.

_Had she not wished for this very moment? Did joy not course through her veins at the sight of him? Why then did she feel this awkwardness between them?_

Approaching the tub, she cautiously peeked at his back. She could not stop the loud gasp that escaped. His beautiful, once smooth back was scarred beyond words. The flesh was flayed, raw and ragged. Tears rushed into her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh God," she gasped out. She felt it then, such rage and vengeance towards those who had hurt him.

He turned to look at her and reached out a hand. Lola rushed forward, kneeling beside the tub, she pressed his hand to her lips.

"Do not cry, _please_." His hands tangled in her hair, kissing the top of her head. The sweetness of the gesture touched her.

"Y-your back... The pain... Oh God." She sobbed again.

"Lola..." he drawled in _that_ way, the only person who ever said her name with such lazy ease. If anything, it made her want to cry harder. "Come, would you help me?"

Like he had once done for her, she lovingly bathed him. His eyes remained closed most of the time, his fatigue written all over his features. It was too late to trim his beard, so all she did was wash his hair. He hissed when the water ran down his back, but there was no way of escaping it. The wounds needed to be cleaned and now was the opportune time.

Arnaud returned and fortuitously helped him step from the bath before leaving them again. Lola gingerly applied a poultice to his back as he hissed again, bracing his arms against the large tub.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered soothingly. "Almost there."

Finally, aware that he was barely able to stand for much longer, she wrapped his back with strips of cloth and helped him to the bed.

Leaving him for a moment, she turned down the covers on his side of the bed. He stopped her, pulling her into his arms. But he went rigid, a frown on his face as he pulled back. Lola, careful not to touch his back, braced her arms against his shoulders. She knew what had given him pause. Between them, her belly now protruded. With her voluminous nightgown and shawl, it had been relatively hidden, especially when you didn't know to look for it. But pressed against him, the swell was unmistakable.

"I realise this might be a dream. I've dreamt of this moment so many times."

"It's no dream," she whispered, guiding his hands to the firm swell. "I am-"

Before she could finish the sentiment, he swayed on his feet and she grunted under her breath as she righted him. He needed rest. Lola helped ease him onto his stomach, and his eyes immediately fluttered shut. Her hands caressed his damp hair, pressing kisses to his rough jaw. Lightly, she pulled the covers over him and rang for the servants to remove the bathwater and his filthy clothing.

He did not even stir at the commotion. He was fast asleep, his arms up around his head, cradling his pillow. He had lost so much weight, she thought, biting her bottom lip, running her hands over his hair again, needing to touch him to prove to herself that he was real.

This was not quite the welcome she had envisioned. She wanted her arms around him, but for now, this would be enough. Lola lay down facing him and closed her eyes, her one hand reaching and holding lightly onto his own.

But she slept fitfully, waking sporadically to check that he was actually beside her. Her restlessness was also because of his. He moaned in his sleep, gripped in the throes of dreams or nightmares. She had no idea what he had endured. But if the flayed flesh on his back was any indication, it had been a harrowing ordeal.

With dawns light filtering into the room, Lola lay quietly and watched him. Even in sleep, he did not look fully relaxed. Her hand reached out and she soothed his furrowed brow. He jerked, his blue eyes open, although not fully alert.

"It's alright," she soothed. "You're home."

His eyes took a moment to focus and closed in relief before flickering open again. "Lola."

She nodded, feeling the urge to bawl again. She held onto her self control. "You're home," she reiterated.

He began to speak but his voice did not cooperate. Lola moved from the bed and returned with some water. He managed to sit upright in the interim, leaning gingerly against the pillows at his back. Still too painful, he leaned forward instead.

"Are you alright?"

He sipped from the glass. "I will be."

Those blue eyes were slightly haunted and she held back the urge to ask him what had happened or where he had been. There would be time for questions later. Again she felt the tension between them, that intangible current that spoke to their final words together.

Lola sat beside him, smoothing down her nightgown. His eyes were drawn to the movement of her hands and then widened.

"It wasn't a dream?"

Her gaze followed his and realisation dawned. Feeling inexplicably shy, she smoothed her hands around the firm bump of her belly. "No. I am pregnant."

She saw him swallow hard, his eyes soft when they met hers. For a moment, he was the man she remembered. Seizing the opportunity, Lola took the empty cup from him and placed it on the bed. Taking both his hands, she positioned it on her swollen abdomen. "I am close to entering my fifth month," she admitted. "They are active and by all accounts, healthy."

She watched those large hands move across the stark white of her nightgown, molding the fabric to expose as much of the round globe as possible.

He shook his head. "Wait." His eyebrows rose, almost disappeared in fact, into his hairline. "They?"

Lola smiled then, broadly. "I have it on good authority, that there is more than one baby inside of me. You wanted heirs, Lord Narcisse. You might get two for the price of one."

Incredulous, his hands kept moving until finally, a slow, but small smile curved his lips.

"You are pleased?"

He swallowed again and she saw him blink back moisture. "Yes. Yes I am."

Lola leaned forward, placing her forehead against his.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted. "I'm so sorry. If I had not-"

He shook his head. "Don't, Lola."

He pulled back and she felt his withdrawal both physically and emotionally. There was so much she wanted to say, but it didn't seem like the time. With a heavy heart, she felt his hands drop from her belly too.

"I'll send for the Doctor and have your breakfast brought up."

"No," he said. "I've had enough of lying about. I will see the Doctor, but I want to have breakfast downstairs. There are matters I need to speak to Bash and Condé about."

She wanted to ask what, but stopped herself. After everything they had been through, this, his duty, still lay between them.

"I'll let them know."

She felt his eyes track her as she slipped into her gown.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and gruff when she'd reached the door. Lola turned to look at him and the small, sad smile was back. She could only manage a nod because her throat burned with tears again.

Outside the room, Lola slumped against the door for a moment and let out a deep breath. Tears pressed at the back of her lids and she blinked rapidly. Her hands went to her belly as she felt the now familiar kick of her babies. Her instinct was to turn back and share it with her husband. But she stopped herself. Not because she didn't want to, but because she wasn't sure he wanted to be around her. She had no idea where the thought came from. But there it was. There was a distance, an aloofness that had not been there before, not even in the early days of their marriage.

Maybe they both needed time. She pressed her lips together. _Time_. The one thing they had already wasted so much of.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: We're almost at the conclusion of this story. Thank you everyone for reading.

A week later, Stéphane was back to running his estate and affairs. Lola worried that he was working too hard, doing too much too soon, but after trying to address it with him once and meeting resistance, she had let it go. Things between them were strained, but cordial, so polite in fact, she felt her internal frustration mount. All she could attribute it to was his experiences while in captivity, as well as the words they had exchanged before he'd departed on that fateful morning.

They still shared the same bedroom, but he came to bed so late and rose again so early, that she wouldn't even have known he was there were it not for the faint indentation on the pillow beside her. His sleep was troubled she realised, but felt the distance between them made it hard for her to broach the subject. She hated it, feeling so removed from what he was thinking and feeling because she had no idea how to reach him, how to try and repair what was broken between them.

The last time they'd really spoken, he had told her he loved her. She couldn't help but wonder whether that was still the case. _Had his ordeal changed something fundamental between them? Or had it been her words to him that had been the catalyst in bringing about such a drastic change?_ Lola wished with all her heart that she could go back, that she could stop their disagreement from spiralling out of control.

The morning after his return, Stéphane met with Bash and Condé. That discussion at the very least, she had been privy to. She'd learnt that the uprising had been quelled, the noble who had taken her husband hostage killed during Stéphane's extraction. The motivation had always been ransom, enough to get his captors as far from France as possible. But as time passed, as Francis's efforts to find Narcisse intensified, the loyalty between those men had begun to waiver. Disagreements ensued and eventually, his location had been leaked in an attempt to curry any residual favour with the King.

Those nobles, all of them, had been hung for treason two days after Stéphane's return. Much to Lola's surprise, he had not travelled to court to personally witness the execution. _Things are not always black and white_ , he had once said to her. She began to realise that now, with a new perspective and clarity. She too, it seemed, was capable of dark thoughts, perhaps even acting on it. She began to question herself and her own beliefs when she realised that she would willingly have watched his captors suffer for what they had done to him. Even after their bodies had long been placed in the ground, she still felt a latent anger at their treatment of him.

Greer decided to return to court a few days after his return. Despite being angry at not being informed of Stéphane's whereabouts, Lola found it counterproductive to carry the burden of it. With everything else in her life upon a rocky precipice, she did not have the energy to remain so. Her husband was back. She chose to focus on that. Although, they, none of them, were whole and happy.

"How is he?" Greer asked as they waited for the carriage that would take her back to court.

"Distant," Lola admitted. "We have not shared words beyond mere pleasantries since his return. He is focused on work, manic almost in his determination to return to it. I feel... at a loss."

Greer looked her in the eye as she declared. "He loves you."

"I am beginning to wonder whether captivity has made him rethink the notion," Lola said with an eye roll that very nearly turned into a sob.

"I watched your reunion Lola. _He loves you_." Greer's expression was earnest and Lola was grateful for _her_ belief at least.

"We have wasted so much time on doubting each other. I, in particular, have wrestled with his character for so long. And now I realise that it matters not. He has proven that he is a man of great conviction – sometimes causing him to err on the darker side – but he is not without principles and is never reckless in his decisions."

"Do you wish that he was someone different?"

"I think I did, when I first met him, even more so when we married," Lola admitted. "But now... I just want him."

"Ought you not to tell _him_ that?" Greer said with a small smile as Pierre arrived with the carriage. "I am sorry... about keeping secrets from you. Francis swore both Mary and I to secrecy. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, knowing how much you worried. I did not want to upset you any further and possibly endanger the lives of your babies. Truly. I am sorry."

Lola pulled a face. "Francis had no right. He is my husband. And being pregnant does not make me weaker, or incapable of managing my feelings." She felt weariness set across her shoulders. "But I do not want to waste any more time on recriminations."

Greer looked pained. "I'm sorry."

Lola exhaled loudly. "I am afraid, Greer."

"The Lola I know always fights with honesty and courage. Do not doubt yourself now." Lola hugged her friend tightly and they both laughed when they felt the kicks between them. "I will write often and return, with your permission, before they are born."

"Please. I look forward to it."

"You were right," Greer said, lingering for a moment. "We are all alone. We came to France with so many hopes and dreams of a better life, of love, stability, happiness. It has not always gone to plan. But _we_ have the power to change that. Do not let fate decide your future. Seize it. Mary and Francis gave you a husband. But you have the power to determine whether it's a loving, happy marriage."

Lola thought about her words long after the carriage had disappeared from sight. Greer was right. She'd resented being forced into this marriage because it had served to benefit others and not her. But now she wanted to stay because she loved her husband and she dreamed of the family they could become. But she had to convince him of that. She had been so blind.

Since coming to France she had struggled internally with the concept of being a good friend, being a loyal citizen and being her own person. Sometimes it became impossible to find herself, her voice, in the choices being made about _her_ life. So much of where she now found herself was because of circumstances beyond her control. This was how it had always been - every part of her life planned by others.

As much as she loved her son, she knew that because of him, she would never be able to achieve true freedom. She was the mother of a claimed son of the King of France. As such, she would always be under scrutiny, the target of cruel gossips or those wanting to take advantage of her position in the King's affections. Or, she mused, forever alone because no one wanted to be seen as interested in the King's property. Because of the indiscretion, she had also spent so much time wrestling with her guilt. Perhaps the prison her life had become was punishment for what she had done to Mary. Maybe, at some point, she had even believed that she deserved to suffer.

But Stéphane was different. Everything about their relationship was unlike anything she had ever thought she wanted for herself. He was headstrong, stubborn and reckless and in return made her feel all those things too. He was the voice of dissent, the challenger in a throne room filled with many who courted the King's favour. He skirted the fine line between black and white, unapologetically, and she realised with insight, that he was exactly what she never thought she wanted, but now realised she needed.

He made her feel alive, an active participant in the course her life was taking. He awakened inside of her feelings she had long suppressed, desires to feel loved, to love unashamedly in return, to have the type of marriage she had only witnessed a handful of times, yet knew existed. But mostly, he challenged her thinking, challenged years of norms and forced her to re-evaluate her view of her world. She had always been righteous and good, haughty even in her morality. But perhaps her evaluation of how that manifested in others was the most floored. She wanted to be happy and she believed that he was the person who could make her so. They would have to work hard, she knew, but she thought the promise of what they could be worth the effort.

Her heart lifted when she realised that she _chose_ him. Staying, working, trying, it was her choice. It felt liberating. It was her turn to try, to show him that she believed in him, that she trusted in him and their marriage. And that the sentiment was true, real, and not contingent on whether or not his beliefs aligned with her own. She knew the type of man she'd married, but she also knew that he tried to be better and despite everything, she'd trusted in him all along.

But she had never told him that. At the very least, she'd made him feel like her own affections were hinged upon whether he danced to a tune she found suitable. How could she expect him to trust her with his heart when she'd never given him any reason to? That was no foundation to build a life on. Finally, she understood that.

They needed to talk, Lola realised. The problem was, she saw so little of him and when she did, it was so painfully awkward. He enquired though, about her wellbeing and the pregnancy. He did not touch her again, but the way his eyes would always dart to her belly, lingering there for the length of their exchange gave her hope. He cared and he already loved their children. That, at the very least, was something.

"Arnaud, have you seen my husband this morning?" she asked on impulse as he passed her.

"Inspecting the construction of the new well with Bernard, Lady Narcisse."

"Thank you." The new well. That had been where they had had their first impromptu picnic. It felt like it was so long ago. In reality, it was less than six months. An idea struck. Perhaps she could visit, take a picnic, a peace offering of sorts. The more she thought about it, the more the idea took root and solidified. _Yes_. In the same surroundings, it might remind him of happier times. With the cold weather they would not be able to sit on the ground, but the carriage would be good enough.

Determined, she went to see to the preparations.

* * *

"The road to the well is not well travelled. The terrain is uneven and with the snow and rain, slick in places Lady Lola," Pierre said. "It is best to travel by horseback." He eyed her large belly. "Although I can see that will not be possible."

"Please, Pierre." He looked uncomfortable. She knew he was about to turn her down. She pressed. " _Please_. You can take it slow and easy."

He shook his head vehemently. "Just this morning a carriage broke its wheel on the same route. I would not want to risk your safety." He licked his lips looking quite nervous. "In truth my Lady, Lord Narcisse might tan my hide if anything were to happen to you. He was urm... quite firm after I had not accompanied you on your first ride." The young boy never made eye contact with her, but he twisted the cap in his hands until it no longer resembled its former shape. "I do quite enjoy my head in its present position."

Lola rolled her eyes at the dramatics. She was sure Stéphane had most likely had words with the young boy, but nothing would happen and should he be chastised, she'd make sure he understood it had been all her idea. Lola changed tack.

"I could saddle a horse myself. It would take me much longer than it would with the carriage, but I will eventually make it."

The young boy blanched, his eyes darting to her large stomach again. Lola felt badly about her manipulation, but the cause was important. She had no more time to waste. If she wanted a future, she needed to grasp it.

"Slow and easy then my Lady."

She smiled. "Thank you."

Lola bundled herself warmly and sat back in the plush interior of the carriage. Beside her, a basket contained warm bread, soup and slices of his favourite cake. She felt nervous, her stomach churning, the babies reacting to it by being more active than usual.

Outside the world was white, the clouds low as rain drops drifted in a fine mist towards the ground. It really was a miserable day. But she was determined to see it as a good omen. They would return, hopefully with a better understanding between them. But dear God, silently, she hoped for more.

They were making good progress and Lola moved the tasselled drapes aside, peeking out. She could see the workmen's site up ahead and again, heady anticipation made her a little giddy. The rocking motion of the carriage had her earrings jiggling against her cheek. She reached up to touch the diamond jewels Stéphane had given her as a wedding present. They represented something rare and precious – everything their marriage was to her.

Suddenly there was a jolt on the left and an involuntary cry flew from her lips. Automatically her hands went to her belly and because of that, nothing stopped her body from slamming forcefully into the side of the carriage. Her head exploded with pain as it hit the window frame and for a second, everything went hazy. The carriage righted itself and came to a stop. The door was wretched open and young Pierre clambered in.

"Are you alright my lady? We hit a rut that hadn't been there when I travelled this way yesterday." The young boy was panicked, his eyes wide. He had no idea what to do with her, hovering uncertainly.

Lola tried to reassure him, her hand going to her head in an attempt to stop the interior of the carriage from spinning. But as she gently pressed her fingers to her temple, they encountered a warm, stickiness. _Blood_. Never one to be squeamish, Lola attributed her sudden light-headedness to a combination of her pregnancy as well as the knock to her head because despite Pierre's cries (Lady Narcisse!), she was powerless from stopping the world from going dark.

* * *

"Lola! Lola!"

She moaned as she regained consciousness, reaching with all her might for wakefulness. Her head felt heavy and when she tried to open her eyes, everything swam before her. She heard a litany of curses and knew it was her husband. For him, she tried again, lifting her lids and blinking rapidly against the light. She lay in his arms inside the carriage, one hand holding hers, the other cradling her stomach.

She moved and her head hurt. "Ow."

"Don't move." It was a command. Under normal circumstances, she would have frowned at him for his tone, but under present conditions, not moving made a lot more sense.

"Where are we?"

"Home," he said, his tone clipped. The carriage door opened and despite his cool tone, he moved her with so much care. Before she realised what was happening, she was helped to her feet while he alighted. Pierre assisted Stéphane in getting her to the carriage door before she was swung into his arms, cradled against him as he strode with purpose, barking orders to the servants anxiously watching their progress.

"Send for the doctor and start a fire in our chambers." Some of the servants stood, staring in horror at her limp body. She could only imagine what they were thinking, especially since more than one of their previous mistresses had their lives ended by traumatic circumstances. Lola tried to smile at them reassuringly but she couldn't quite manage it. Stéphane, angry at their inertia snapped again, "now!" spurring them into action.

Inside their bedroom, he gently deposited her into a sitting position on the bed and removed her cloak. His hands were gentle as they cradled her head. Dabbing his sleeve to the wound at her hairline, the bleeding stopped.

"Does it still hurt?" There was such fear in his voice that she met his eyes but shrunk back a little. He was furious.

"A little," she said gingerly as two pairs of blue eyes clashed. The pain was now a dull ache. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He straightened and seemed to try his utmost to get a grip on his fury. "What were you thinking taking the carriage out in this weather? I'd almost fired Pierre for his recklessness when he told me it was your idea. I have half a mind to-"

"No!" Lola cried. "I made him do it."

"Why would you be so foolish?!" he roared, his eyes hard, shining with so much passion, a lesser woman would have turned from it.

But Lola felt her own anger spike. "Foolish? I was coming to see you!"

"In the middle of winter, with the roads slick, the temperatures below freezing-"

"I do not need a lecture from you!" She pressed a finger against his chest, but because she was sitting and he standing, it was closer to his belly. "If you had not been ignoring me this past week, I would not have had cause to venture out just to spend some time with you!"

The words were out before she could stop them and she bit her lip. She felt weepy again and hated herself for it. Her damned pregnancy made her more emotional than she had ever been in her entire life. She detested feeling this vulnerable all the time.

He turned away, his hands pressed to his temples. His beard had been trimmed and she was annoyed at herself for appreciating how handsome he looked, primal as he stalked across the room. He didn't say anything and she felt frustration get the better of her. Lola rose cautiously, testing her legs. When the room did not spin, she took steps towards the door.

"Where do you think you are going?" he asked, a ferocious scowl on his face.

"Away from you."

"Lola," he warned.

"Don't- oh!" Her gasp had him at her side, his fury tempered. She did not have time to ponder the contradiction as she breathed in deeply then released the same breath slowly. She was angry with him, but she couldn't deny him the joy he had not yet experienced. Reaching for his hand, she placed it on the left of her belly and watched his face as he felt their children kick for the first time. The frown across his brow disappeared momentarily as his features relaxed, lines fanning from his eyes as he smiled.

"They're fine," she said gently. "The knock to my head looks worse than it is. The babies are not harmed." She tried to catch his gaze. She knew how much they meant to him and how many children he had already lost. "I would never do anything to harm them."

His eyes closed and he swallowed. "I know."

"I just wanted to see you," she admitted tentatively, trying to gauge his reaction. "You have been back for more than a week and we have barely exchanged a word."

He shook his head to stop her, letting go and stepping away. Lola felt the separation keenly and refused to be silenced. Her voice rose a little in an effort to get the words that had been pent up inside of her out.

"I am sorry," she said to his retreating form. "What happened to you, it was my fault." He turned around and frowned. "I know that the decision you made was because of our disagreement. Your pain..." her voice quivered. "I'm so sorry. You must resent me-"

"I do not resent you." Despite his creased brow, his tone gave nothing away. "Things might be easier if I did."

Lola stared at him, unsure of what to say. Before her was the man she'd always watched at court. Calm, collected, confident as he delivered his edicts. He was not her husband – at least, not the one she had spent months getting to know.

"The irony of our situation is not lost on me. I have yearned for children to carry on my legacy. In many ways, who their mother was never mattered. In the case of Estelle, I married her so she might keep her lands. But I also married her because she was young and would be able to have children. As it turned out, we never consummated our marriage. The short time we spent together was overshadowed by the fact that she was not mentally present. And so you see, it is not unreasonable to assume that I have been fairly... _cursed_ when it comes to my choice of brides."

"Not the most flattering thing you have ever told me," she said slowly, trying to understand where he was going with this. Briefly, his lips curled into the barest hint of a smile.

"You are free Lola."

"Free?" _What?_

"Yes." His tone was now matter-of-fact. "You may return to court if you wish. Or you could reside here. I would prefer you stay, seeing as you are having my children soon. We might re-evaluate our living arrangements thereafter."

"Re-evaluate?" She shook her head, trying to process what he was saying.

"Yes."

"Return to court?" She kept repeating his words, confused.

"This arrangement, Lola," he said slowly, as if he was talking to a child, "is no longer working. For both of us I imagine. I feel stifled and you likely frustrated and alone."

Lola felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. _He wanted out of their marriage?_ The region around her heart squeezed painfully and she struggled to catch a breath. _No longer working?_ In the recess of her mind she was reminded of his past. Multiple wives, all of them unsuitable. Multiple pregnancies, most of them ending in the death of one or both mother and child. _Was that a clue?_

She stared at him, at the impassive mask he had in place. Stephane was many things, but she knew he wasn't a liar. If he truly did not want her, if she meant nothing to him, he would not be standing there so politely while he dismissed her without real cause. He would be telling her why, openly and honestly. The only reason she could think of was… It dawned upon her. He was afraid.

And if fear was the driving force, was he letting her go to spare her the same fate? _Cursed_ , he had said. Was that what _he_ thought he was? Cursed? Lola kept looking at him at the way he glanced in her direction, his hand rubbing his jaw line as his eyes traced her encumbered body. He loved her. She knew he did. And he loved their children. _So why was he letting them go?_ A light bulb went on in her head. _Did he feel unworthy?_ He thought her unable to accept him for who he was. He had said as much.

"Liar," she breathed, the words out before she could contain them. " _Liar_."

A perfect brow arched, looking to anyone who wasn't really looking, as if he were bored. But she noticed other things now, the way he shifted slightly from one foot to the other, restless, the way he unclenched his fists in an attempt to relax but failed.

"Excuse me?"

"Liar!" she said, now more sure than ever. "You told me you loved me."

He rolled his eyes, and she could see it so clearly, the way he pretended to be aloof, affronted, annoyed even. He genuinely believed that this would be best for them? That this was what she wanted? Any resentment at his foolish attempt was lost under the magnitude of the self-sacrifice. She knew, more than anyone else, how very much he wanted children. That he would be willing to enter into an arrangement where they were concerned demonstrated the depths of his sincerity. This man, this deeply flawed, misguided man loved her enough to let her go, thinking it would make her happy. Even if it made him miserable. But _he_ made her happy. Only, he didn't seem to know it.

"Well, do you?" she pressed.

"Love is of no consequence." Neatly sidestepped, she realised.

"Of all the things you have ever said to me, the things that I have heard you say to others," she said, circling idly around him, "that has got to be the most ridiculous."

"I happen to disagree," he snapped.

"Clearly," she snapped in return. "I wonder now at ever thinking you a man of sense."

She could feel his eyes burning into her, tracking her movements as she sauntered around the room, ensuring that her pregnant form was on full display.

"Your point, Lola?"

"That you are a liar."

"How so? I believe you have already expressed that sentiment." The exchange was tense and rapid.

"Because, you _said_ you loved me."

"Perhaps I was mistaken."

"No, you were not." He looked away, but she could see his jaw tense. "Because those words do not come lightly to you, Stéphane." More sure than ever, Lola pressed. "The _sentiment_ , does not come lightly to you."

"You know I like games, I've told you this often enough. Perhaps this was one and now I no longer want to play."

That hurt. It did. But Lola reminded herself that it was her turn to fight. "You've assured me multiple times that you have never played any with me." Lola took a deep breath, knowing it was now or never. _My future is in my hands_. And she would never forgive herself if her pride held her back from grasping at it. The time was right.

"I love you." She felt as if the words echoed across the vast chasm between them. His eyes widened and he went stock still. She went to him then, awkwardly because of her bulk and stood in front of him so there could be no misinterpretation of her meaning.

"I should have told you before you left. I should never have made it seem like a condition of my affection was that you behave in a certain way or be any other person than who you are. I know that I have high principles and I demand a lot-"

His lips quirked. "I like that you are demanding."

She scowled at his interruption, but focused, getting the words out. "But I accept you, Stéphane, for who you are. When you were taken, when I realised that you could be dead or worse," her throat closed at the admission, "I felt a rush of rage and vengeance, such as I had never experienced before."

"Lola-" He was pulling away again and she rushed on.

"I know we live in the grey. I know that because of who we are connected to, we are forced to make decisions that impact the lives of many. I can't claim I will ever be comfortable with it, but I understand it. I'm trying to understand you. But until then... I don't want us to live separate lives..."

"I will never be Francis. I will never be that kind of man." He said it like a warning, his eyes hard as it bore into hers. Lola couldn't help but feel like it was the final hurdle, the last test.

"I know." She looked him straight in the eye. "I _know_."

"Seeing you today, lifeless..." He looked haunted. "For a moment I thought you were..." He could not finish the sentence and Lola felt tears press the back of her throat. She had been right. He had lost so much. Just the thought, no matter how infinitesimal, that he had lost her too... She shuddered. If it were anywhere near the devastation she had felt at the thought of losing him, she could relate.

"I would not recover, Lola." Slowly, he reached for her and pressed his forehead to hers, their breathing slowly synchronising, her world slowly righting itself.

"I'm sorry," she said again, this time, unable to stop the tears.

"No," he said, framing her face with his hands. "I am." And then his lips claimed hers in a desperately passionate, kiss. Lola wound her arms around his neck, anxiety, love and the deepest adoration making her weak.

"I love you," she whispered between breaths, determined that he never doubt her feelings ever again. "I don't want a man like Francis." She made sure that her feelings were evident in her eyes. " _I just want you_."

"Thank God." He swept her into his arms and she squealed in surprise, holding on for dear life.

"Well now, you do weigh a little more than I remember," he teased. Lola laughed, carefree for the first time in months.

There was a knock at the door but neither Lola nor her husband even looked up when Jacqueline entered. "The Doctor is here my Lady."

"Make him comfortable, Jacqueline. Or ask him to return in the morning. My wife and I will be a little while." His eyes never left hers.

The door closed and Lola forgot all about everything outside of the room. His eyes sparkled like jewels as he carried her to the foot of their bed and slowly lowered her to the ground, his deft fingers undoing the ties at the back of her dress. She was a little shy when she stood naked, her body so different to the last time he'd seen her. But the reverence in his gaze, the utter disarmament, relieved any anxiety she might have felt.

"You really should be seen to," he drawled, his hands cupping the fullness of her breasts, before travelling to span the surface of her stomach.

"I thought that was what you were just about to do."

His smile was slow and sexy and she felt her desire spike. He looked down at her bulk and smirked.

"Perhaps a more... creative approach is necessary."

She felt excitement course through her body as she reached for him, their lips meeting in a deep kiss. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt and he assisted her by shrugging out of it. The expanse of his chest was still covered in strips of cloth and she bit her lip. His fingers raised her chin so she could meet his eyes.

"Does it repulse you?"

Immediately she shook her head. "No, no," she said, but there were tears in her eyes. "Your pain…"

"Its over," he said, pulling her into his arms and hugging her close. "But," he whispered wickedly in her ear, "we both seem to have a handicap. My back, your-"

" _Your_ children-"

"I was going to say your gloriously rounded body," he said with a roguish chuckle. Lola shivered. She had missed him so much and told him so.

"So have I," he murmured hoarsely, bending to press a kiss of gentle reassurance to her lips. A small moan escaped him as Lola parted his lips with the tip of her tongue and tasted of him freely, while her hand skimmed his chest, caressing him with barely restrained passion. She paused, breaking their kiss, her chest heaving. She gazed into his eyes in dazed wonder as she boldly turned towards the bed, keenly aware of the fact that he could not take his eyes off her as she lay down.

He wasted no time, lowering himself beside her, he pulled her into his arms, claiming her waiting mouth with fevered, unbridled kisses. She returned them each with a soft moan, curling one hand sensuously behind his nape. Her other hand darted down his chest, caressing patches of exposed skin.

"You're beautiful," he whispered as his lips travelled down her body, resting on the swollen, sensitive mounds of her breasts. He tested the weight of them in his hands and Lola moaned, acutely aware of how sensitive her skin had become.

"So responsive," he drawled as he gently suckled each breast in turn, careful not to hurt the soft peaks. He paid them homage and Lola arched her back to thrust the hardened tips of her nipples more deeply into his mouth. She felt the world disappear, her person focused on the pleasure of being in his arms again. He teased and fondled, shifting position so that none of his weight bore down on her.

Lola was flushed and panting by the time he tore himself away from her breasts to apply his kisses lower. His lips pressed to her swollen belly with such reverence, she squeezed her eyes shut, moist tears seeping from the corners. But then he moved on and she gasped in delight as his mouth boldly claimed her throbbing core.

Lola had learned that her husband was not one to do anything in half measures. Absorbed completely in the task of pleasuring her, she felt the last of her senses flee, leaving her completely out of control. She felt her release build, but he left her hovering on the brink as he rose, his lips glinting with the evidence of her passion.

His eyes shone with such possession, her breath stuttered momentarily as he shrugged out of his remaining clothing, standing proud and naked before her. He was definitely leaner than she remembered, but no less strong or beautiful. Gently, he tugged at her legs, pulling her body down to the edge of the bed. Spreading her bent knees, she planted her feet on the edge of the bed as he came to stand between them. He leaned down, his arms braced beside her as he positioned himself at her entrance.

Lola's hands gripped his forearms, practically panting in anticipation. He reached down, tender for a moment as he nuzzled against her. He breathed out, his whisper close to her ear as he thrust forward gently.

"I love you."

Those words, so precious, wrapped itself around her as he moved, slowly, reverently. She was his completely, utterly, and he was hers. Never had she felt the weight of their commitment, as she did in that moment. For the first time, their emotions were as one, their love flowing freely, accepted and reciprocated in turn.

The parry and retreat of his gentle rhythm matched her own. Lola was all-yielding, all-quivering acquiescence. Every heaving breath that left her lips bore a wanton echo of her complete desire for this one man. She arched beneath him with each silken thrust, his length buried deep inside her.

Time ceased to have any meaning as they were both utterly absorbed in one another. She watched his face fill with pleasure and thrilled at the groans of heated ecstasy on his lips. He held her stare as he towered over her, reading the raw emotion in his beautiful blue eyes as he brought her to the brink of surrender.

Lola was lost in him, in them, eager for his every stroke as he clutched her hips gently, his blazing gaze urging her to let go. The pleasure was so intense, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the power of her feelings. Inside of her, she felt his release pulsing into her body, her own walls contracting around him.

Stéphane collapsed beside her, pulling her against his front, still unable to lie on his back. Lola hugged him close, pressing kisses to the butterfly birthmark at his wrist.

"I love you," she whispered as he drew the covers over them, his arms possessive as they tightened over the warm cocoon where their children lay.

He pressed a reverent kiss to her hair. "Not nearly as much as I love you, all _three_ of you," he said with a rough, almost bemused chuckle.

She laughed, burrowing deeper into his arms. "The Doctor might be waiting," she warned with a yawn.

"Let him wait," he said, pulling her even closer.

Happily, Lola closed her eyes, overwhelming joy and contentment settling inside of her. Hope was back. And this time, it burned brighter than ever before.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone whose read this story. We have reached the end. Let's hope we get some great Lola x Narcisse before the end of the season!

Lola awoke because the babies were active. When she opened her eyes, she realised it was also because her husband had his hand on her belly. She didn't stir for a while, just soaked in the experience of observing him in secret.

Since she was laying on her side facing him, he had scooted down and was touching her as lightly as he dared. Despite only having a side profile visible, it stirred her heart to see him rest his forehead against her womb, closing his eyes as if in prayer. Here before her was not the hardened noble of old. He was a man. He was hers.

"They are quite energetic," she murmured. Clear blue eyes snapped open and he smiled sheepishly.

"I am sorry if I woke you."

" _They_  woke me." Lola inched up against the pillows and gestured towards her stomach. "Satisfy your curiosity," she said, rolling her eyes with mock annoyance.

With a wicked grin, Stéphane raised her nightgown until it rested above the large swell, pressing kisses to her upper thighs as he moved along. When he eventually reached his goal, he rested his cheek against her stomach.

Lola brushed her fingers through his short hair, a little bemused at his reverence. "Your other wives did not allow you this close when they were pregnant?"

"My first was so young and painfully bashful," he drawled. "Her mother had taught her that body parts should always be kept hidden beneath layer upon layer of fabric. I never actually  _saw_  her naked. Ever." He was quiet for a moment. "When she carried Éduard, she moved out of my rooms and never returned."

Her heart went out to him. But she reminded herself that this time, it would be different – for both of them. She too had been alone during her pregnancy. There had been people around her of course, but she had been lonely nonetheless. "You missed out on the best parts," Lola said. "Watching your child grow, it is a miracle both parents should enjoy."

"Though it might be hard to fathom, considering the amount of times I've been wed," he said with dramatic irony, "I am experiencing many firsts with you Lola."

"Oh?" she asked playfully as she tugged on his hair so he looked at her.

"Love." Her heart squeezed when his soft blue gaze found hers. "And you share my bedroom with me. None of the others did."

"You're joking?" Again her eyes bulged. "This is the best part! I have easy access to you."

He chuckled, placing a kiss to her belly before moving up to kiss her lips.

"I visited a marital bed. But it was never really a marriage. Not in the true sense."

Lola nuzzled against him before her eyes found his, earnest. "We're alright?"

"More than," he said, his lips finding hers. Their foreheads rested together in a moment of calm contemplation. The estate had roused, around them the distant sounds of industry could be heard. But inside their bedroom, things were still quiet and tranquil.

"Stéphane, what happened to you all those weeks?" She touched his cheek, her eyes threatening to mist over.

He stilled, saying nothing for a long time. Lola remained patient, waiting until he was ready. "Honestly, I do not want to think about it any longer. In captivity, I had only two realities. Pain and recovery. And then it became so that the pain was all consuming, permanent and recovery no longer existed."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Your words gave me pause Lola, as they always tend to, but they did not make me do anything I did not want to."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to his. "I love you."

"And I love you. All of you."

Gently, he scooted down and lay his head on her stomach, closing his eyes. This, she realised, could very well be the first day of the rest of their lives. She looked down, marvelling at the scene. With her white nightgown bunched around her waist, her husband lay sprawled across her belly. Most of his weight was braced on the side of his body, but his arms were nevertheless wrapped around her abdomen. Content, she stoked his hair until they both drifted into a contented sleep.

* * *

 Lola looked up when she felt a frisson of awareness dance across her skin. She was being watched. Glancing up from the book she was reading, she saw her husband lounging on the threshold to the library, one shoulder leaning against the doorway, his arms and ankles crossed.

She raised a brow, but smiled invitingly, the book dropping to her lap.

"It's impolite to stare," she reminded him.

"The only thing impolite, were the rather sensual thoughts running through my mind." He pushed away from the doorjamb and entered. Her heart flopped a little. This man, this deeply complex, decidedly gorgeous creature belonged to her. "Well in that case, I approve."

He chuckled loudly and joined her on the sofa. It was well past midday and he was returning from estate business.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, leaning gently into his side. His back was recovering, but he still settled gingerly against the chair. The bandages were now off at night to allow the wounds time to breathe.

"I would love tea with my wife." The sexy drawl she loved was back.

Lola giggled. "Oh really, tea?"

She looked up and his eyes were shining with mirth. "Tea."

" _Just_  tea?"

He nuzzled her hair and she set the book aside, curling into his side. He kissed the top of her head before saying, "I have to return to court tomorrow. Francis has sent an invitation."

Lola picked at the buttons on the front of his doublet before resting her cheek across his heart. "Do we have to?"

"We?" His brow raised.

"You don't think I'm letting you out of my sight for a minute do you?"

He chuckled and she felt the vibrations on her cheek. "It shouldn't be for more than a day or two."

"I'm loathe to leave our home."

He raised her chin so her head now rested on his shoulder. "Lola?"

The truth, always, she reminded herself. "I feel safe here. We're happy and there's no interference from anyone on how we live our lives or-"

"We have to face the world at some point."

"I know." She sighed heavily, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw, just because it was within reach.

"It does not strike you as odd that you're the one who does not want to go to court?"

"I want to see Jean-Philippe of course, but..."

He shifted, trying to get a better look at her. "What is it?"

"I don't want to lose this. Court has a way of bringing out the worst in people. Everyone there is so unhappy lately. I'm afraid-"

"Lola," he asked, his voice indulgent. "Do you love me?"

Her heart fluttered a bit at his direct, hot gaze. "Yes. Do you love me?"

His lips quirked. "Perhaps."

Lola leaned up and bit his earlobe gently and he chuckled loudly, half amused, half surprised.

"We, you and I, have committed to our family." She liked the sound of that –  _our family_. "Nothing will come between that."

"Promise me," she asked nevertheless, surprised at the level of assurance she needed.

"You are everything to me. I would slay anyone who tried to keep us apart."

A shiver raced down her spine at the edge in his voice. But she accepted his avowal. She pressed her lips to his and within moments the kiss turned hot and passionate. Sliding closer, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Good," she whispered. "So would I." She meant it.

* * *

 "Good Lord Lola! You look marvellous!" Kenna exclaimed.

"Quite," Stéphane drawled in her ear, a possessive arm around her enlarged waistline.

"Lord Narcisse," Kenna said. "It's nice to see you back on your feet."

His brows rose in surprise at her polite statement. "Thank you."

"Mary tells me you will not be at court for more than a day or two. I hope you might have time to take dinner with myself and Bash." She rolled her eyes, muttering in a way that was decidedly Kenna, "That is, if my husband is around to join us."

His eyebrows all but disappeared and Lola intervened, smiling at her friend in appreciation. "We would love that, Kenna. Thank you."

"Right then," said Kenna. "That's settled. Now, news and gossip!"

Stéphane cleared his throat. "My cue to leave." He kissed Lola just below her ear and she shivered, watching him leave.

"Lord Narcisse!"

Mary had entered the hallway where they had parted. He returned. "Majesty." He bowed stiffly.

"Are you on your way to see the King?"

"I am."

"Lola, please, would you join us?" Mary asked.

"Me?" She frowned at her friend, but Mary already gestured for her to walk alongside her.

"Yes."

Lola looked to Stéphane but he only shrugged his shoulders.

"We'll catch up later," said Kenna as Lola passed.

Taking her husband's arm, they followed the Queen into Francis's chambers. The King was standing, awaiting their arrival it would seem. Lola's hand slipped down Stéphane's arm and reached for his hand. He looked at her, surprised, but she only squeezed his fingers. Lola braced herself.  _How far they had come_ , she mused. Whatever her sovereigns and friends wanted from him, they now wanted from  _them_. They would face it together.

"Lord Narcisse," Francis began as Mary moved to his side. "The Queen and I would like to thank you for your service in the name of France. I know that it has been a..." Francis paused, "difficult journey for all of us, but I believe you have proven your loyalty." Lola watched him struggle for a moment. "I once told Lola that she would regret her marriage to you," he said and Lola tightened her hold on Stéphane's hand. "I know I was wrong. I admit I was wrong and happy for once, to be proven thus. And looking at you both now, that has never been more clear."

Stéphane it seemed had been stunned into silence. He recovered, bowing graciously – and sincerely, Lola realised – before straightening. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"I return the lands I took from you and hope Narcisse, that the faith I place in you will be rewarded with loyalty to myself, my family, my crown and the people I care about."

Francis looked to Lola then and she smiled at him, proud of the King who stood before her. She could have no idea of the radiant sight she presented to her King and Queen. She glowed with love and pride, her body soft and rounded. She also would never know the envy both Mary and Francis felt, knowing their own marriage would never produce a similar sentiment ever again.

"I do not know if we will ever truly be friends," Francis said eventually, "But you have proven a worthy advisor. Thank you, for your service."

"I hope you understand, your Majesty, that all the actions I've taken in the past was in the service of France. I accept that the consequences have been... less than desirable, but I avail myself to aid in ensuring that you enjoy a long and successful reign."

"Thank you Lord Narcisse." Mary stepped forward, every inch the regal Queen. "I know it is a cold comfort, but I offer my apologies for the role I played in your son's death. We have all made mistakes. Perhaps now, we can start this alliance anew."

Lola felt Stephane stiffen beside her and shifted closer to him. In this, he had her support.

His voice was rough when he eventually spoke. "It is a hard thing to lose a child. It has taken me a long time to make peace with what happened. But," he looked to Lola briefly, "I also realise in an ironic twist of fate, that everything that happened lead me to this moment. While I wish my son was still alive, I am grateful for my wife and my unborn children." Lola felt tears burn the back of her eyes and blinked. "I accept your apology, your Majesty," he finished.

Francis nodded, done with sentiment. "Right," he said briskly, a little awkward. "I have another matter to attend to. You will both be staying the night?"

Lola nodded.. "Yes, I want to spend some time with Jean-Philippe."

"Good. Join Mary and I for dinner. Both of you." He nodded at Stéphane and left the room. Mary kissed both her cheeks before leaving them too.

"I am not sure if I can comprehend what just happened," Lola said.

"We have another dinner invitation?" he asked.

She jabbed him lightly and he chuckled, still a little dazed himself.

"Well," said Stéphane. "Neither can I. Francis was right. We will never be friends," he said with irony. "But I believe we can work together for the betterment of a country we both love."

"I never thought I would see the day."

"Its all you, you know that, don't you?"

"Me?" Lola scoffed, winding her arms around his neck. "I did nothing."

"You did  _everything_ ," he said. "You and your unfailing logic and patience, your resilience and love."

"Well," Lola said, brushing her nose against his. "Definitely love."

" _Definitely_ ," he drawled as his smiling lips captured hers.

* * *

 At eight months pregnant, Lola felt ready to burst. She was tired now, most of the time, her body large and cumbersome. Her feet were swollen too and was mortified when she burst into tears one night, convinced that she was fat and utterly unattractive. As a husband and expectant father, Stéphane continued to surprise her. His support and care astounded her with daily frequency, choosing to rub her feet or her back himself instead of having the servants attend to her.

"Why are you smiling?" she'd asked between tears. She hated feeling vulnerable and not in control of herself.

"Because," he soothed, taking her resisting body into his arms. "You are heartbreakingly tempting, even when you're wrestling with unfounded fears." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You're beautiful. You'll always be beautiful to me. You're carrying my sons."

Her face crumbled again and she pressed into his chest. "Oh God, what if they're not boys?" she wailed.

He laughed then, loud and boisterous. "Then we shall try again."

"Stéphane," she asked, her eyes meeting his, her fear written there. "What if-"

"Lola," he cautioned. "I need heirs. I would love heirs. You know this," he said with candour. "But I've been hated and tortured. And then I've been cared for and loved. I have a profound gratitude to just be alive. Somehow, succession should seem more important now than ever. And yet, I just want our children to be born strong and healthy, regardless of their gender." His arms tightened around her. "And for you to survive it."

His expression had turned dark as he pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. "I cannot lose you. I would not recover."

Lola pressed close to him, closing her eyes and basking in his nearness and the safety she always felt in his arms. Everything, she realised, would be alright.

* * *

 "Lord Narcisse," Lola heard Mary call outside their bedroom. "You have two healthy children."

"My wife?" His voice was near, but gruff.

Mary must have given him permission because in an instant, the door to their chamber opened and he rushed inside. The minute his eyes met hers, she saw raw emotion reflected back at her. He looked pale and decidedly unlike the calm, always collected aristocrat.

"Come," she said softly. "Come meet them."

The labour had been long and arduous. Jean-Philippe's birth had been a lot easier in comparison, but then again, he had only been one child. She had been sponged and changed, so had the babies before Mary went to fetch Stéphane. Lola signalled to Greer who handed a tiny bundle to him before leaving them. Reverently, his large hands cradled the precious package. Coming to sit beside her, he gently unwrapped the blanket.

"Meet your son." His eyes went to hers and she saw such joy echoed there. "And, your daughter. We have been blessed with one of each," she said. In her arms, an identical bundle mewed softly.

"I was right," Stephane said. "Despite being overjoyed at holding my son, I am equally happy meeting our daughter." His eyes were drawn back to the child in his arms, then hers. "They are strong." She felt her heart expand at the sight of him with his heir.

"Strong and healthy. It is a good sign, especially since they came a little early."

He smirked at her. "Well, they are mine."

Lola rolled her eyes but any other words were stalled when he leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Thank you. For a man who until very recently had never been in love, I now find my life over run with persons on which to bestow the affection." He reached over and she gently placed the other baby in the crook of his available arm. She committed the moment to memory, knowing she would never forget the love that flooded her chest at the sight of the same emotion mirrored so clearly on his face.

"When I first came to France with Mary," she whispered, "I remember being terrified. It was the first time I was leaving home, with the hopes and dreams of my family resting on my shoulders. The weight of expectation," she grimaced, "and duty, was sometimes so hard to bear alone. And now…"

"You are no longer alone. You will never be alone again. And whatever burdens you bare, we shall shoulder together."

Lola leaned forward and touched his cheek affectionately. "God does work in mysterious ways."

"Indeed. You hated me on sight," he reminded her.

"I didn't hate you." Stéphane raised an amused brow in her direction. "Well, perhaps I didn't  _like_  you very much," she conceded.

"My charms of course, were irresistible." Lola laughed as he continued. "But the thing that intrigued you most, was the sex journal." Lola gasped and he smirked, a smile spreading across his face. "Admit it."

"I admit nothing."

"All those sensual delights..."

"That you had engaged in with other women," she replied without jealousy.

"In preparation for you, of course."

"That is no comfort," she shot back, but without heat. The past was the past. They only had the future to look forward to. "Our children need names," she said. "Ideas?"

"Margot," Stephane said without hesitation.

Lola was surprised by his speed. "You've given it some thought."

"It was my mother's name. I loved her, for the short time we had together." Lola pressed her cheek to his shoulder in silent comfort.

"Margot Narcisse. And...?"

"I would not dishonour our son by naming him after my father," he said quietly, looking down at the child. He slept, completely content."What about your father?"

Lola shook her head. "No. That was a different life. I know that names hark to heritage. But-"

"A new start?" he finished, meeting her eyes.

Lola nodded.

"We could always name him in honour of our King," he drawled. She rolled her eyes, knowing he was not in the least serious. He might have made peace with Francis, but that did not mean he wanted to call his son by the name.

"Christophé," Lola said. "Let's name our son, Christophé."

* * *

 "Christophé Narcisse. You will get back here immediately!" Lola called. But it was in vain. The boisterous three year old was heading towards the King's chambers at breakneck speed. The guards, already used to the game, opened the door before he proceeded to either knock until someone opened (usually the King) or he called out for his father. Signalling to the children's governess to desist from the chase, Lola went after her son.

The Narcisse family were spending a month at court. It was the first time the twins were away from home for such an extended amount of time. While Margot was easily influenced by her brother's adventurous spirit, she was also swayed by the sight of tea parties and pretty dresses. She was every bit her father's daughter though, able to get Stéphane to bend to her every will. Her favourite memories were of walking into his library at night and finding Margot asleep in his arms as he read a book by the fire. Or waking to find him on the floor of their bedroom, entertaining two toddlers who worshiped him  _because_  of the care he lavished upon them. He was determined to be nothing like his own father and worked to earn the love and respect of his children.

Stepping inside the room, her son had already found his target. His father. Shifting her hold on her daughter's hand, Lola apologised.

"Francis, I am sorry."

The King smiled broadly. All these years later, he and Mary had not reconciled. And because of it, he still had only one son. But children brought him great joy and she was sorry about the fact that it seemed like he and Mary would never have any.

"Lord Narcisse and I have concluded our business. I have been asked if I would allow myself to acquiesce to a 'check up'."

Lola rolled her eyes. "He has been spending an extraordinary amount of time with Doctor Chapelle. Every chance he gets his father has to submit to being probed and questioned by a three year old on his apparent symptoms."

"Yes. Last I checked," Stéphane drawled, amused, "I had worms."

Francis laughed. "He has a bright, enquiring mind."

"A quality he has inherited from his mother," Stéphane said, lifting his son into his arms. The resemblance between father and son never failed to stagger her. Twin pairs of blue eyes stared at her and Lola did not have the heart to scold the child.

"Perhaps just before your bedtime young Christophé, I shall avail myself for your expert opinion on my health?" The little boy nodded vigorously and the King shook his hand. "Good boy."

"Me too!" Margot piped up.

"Me too, your Majesty," Lola gently reminded her.

"Me too, your Majesty," she said, beaming at the King.

Francis bent down to eye level, brushing her shiny dark curls behind her ears. She had her mother's generous smile and wide eyes.

"Of course, my dear. You and your brother can each have a turn."

"You are a brave man," Stéphane told Francis. But the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

"And you are a lucky one," the King said, his tone wistful and Lola was sorry for it.

"Lola." Francis kissed her cheek before leaving the family together.

"I hear Mary is leaving for the country again," Stéphane said as he reached for Margot, the little girl willingly launching herself at him. With a mock grunt, he hoisted both his children into his arms.

"Yes," Lola said with a sad smile. "And with Prince Condé."

Stéphane's brow raised but he did not say a word. Instead, he addressed his children. "I think we should go and see the horses? What do you think?"

Christophé yelped his excitement and Margot nodded, her curls bouncing with enthusiasm.

Putting her arm around his waist, they walked towards the stables together. Lola came to realise in the years that followed, that Stéphane Narcisse was every bit as complex as she has initially assumed. Their relationship was not an easy one – they argued and in turn challenged each other with frequency. But those interactions served as a mechanism to solidify their bond. Never was there a more devoted husband or father. Like her, he was determined to cast off the expectation of society, and together, they reared their children with personal care and interest.

They were blessed with a large family. The twins were followed by two more sons and a daughter, their children the source of their combined joy. It was Lola, not a nurse or governess who spent nights awake with them when they were ill. And it was Stéphane who taught them, their sons  _and_  daughters, to ride with skill, shoot with precision and hunt with care.

Her life had not turned out the way she had imagined when she'd arrived in France so many years ago. It had turned out even better.


End file.
